The Magical Bat 45: Bad Trip
by karanne
Summary: The summer between Mattie Wayne's fourth and fifth years. Also includes material regarding humanity's move into the galaxy.
1. 1 15 June, 2002

(A/N: 28 Oct 2008: Well, SAYS they fixed the upload problem. Why did it take them eight months?)

The Magical Bat 4.5: Bad Trip

#include stdDisclaimer.h: Batman, Catwoman, Alfred, Babs, Dick, Lucius Fox, and the others, are DC Comic's toys, as are John Stewart and the rest of the Lantern crew. Hogwarts, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys and the others in the Potterverse belong to the fabulous JK Rowling. The Morton family is used with the permission of GITM. I'm just playing with their toys, and they'll be put back later. Everyone else, they're mine. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2008 Kara Anne Kalel karanne AT gmail DOT com. All rights reserved. No money is made, and no infringement is implied or intended.

This is a sequel to my stories:

The Bat & the Cat, redux, The Magical Bat (I), Magical Bat: Road Trip (1.5), Magical Bat II, Magical Bat: Training Trip (2.5), Magical Bat III, Magical Bat: Business Trip (3.5), and Magical Bat IV.

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For disclaimers, please see above.  
1-15 June, 2002_**  
Saturday, June 1, 2002:  
Corfu, Agios Georgios, room 26: 19:13 (GMT +2)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie paid the cabbie, tipping him a couple Euros, and he drove off. She walked through the hotel, stopping at the desk to claim her room key, followed, as always, by Crystal.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, Becky!" Mattie called into the bathroom, "Don't use all the hot water, okay? I want a shower before I hit the pool."

Crystal transformed as the shower cut off, catching Carson as he ran to her. Becky appeared as Mattie was removing her uniform, placing her katana and boot knives in the top dresser drawer and warding it. "Thanks, he's at that curious stage," she said, a towel wrapped around her, another on her hair.

"That would be bad," Crystal said as Carson gave his 'Aunt Mattie' a hug. "I'm going to scare up some more towels, anyone want something from the machine?"

Mattie gave her a couple of Euros from her bag, "A Diet Coke? if they have it, please. We'll get something to eat at the pool."

"You can come..." Becky started, but Crystal shook her head, "No, this is your adult, your family time. You go and have dinner, enjoy a few hours of not being a mum, Carson will be fine with Mattie and I at the pool." She summoned a room key, then waved at the dresser, "Get ready, you sure that you don't want a soda from the machine?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You're a natural muzzer," a lady with a strong French accent said as Mattie watched Carson in the children's pool from where she sat on the edge. "You seem a bit young, though."

"First time in several months my boyfriend's family has been together, so we said we'd watch Carson while they got caught up," Mattie explained, sitting back and twisting open her bottle of Diet Coke?. The hotel sat on a slope, the pool area overlooked the lake and beyond it, the sun sinking into the Ionian Sea. Lights formed a delicate filigree of white around the shore, while masthead lights glowed on boats. "I had to be here for the Guard's graduation ceremony, and one of my, well, in-laws was graduating. How about you?"

"My twins, my babies, they are also graduating," the Frenchwoman said. She sighed, "They can fly the heavens, but as for me, I am too old."

Crystal snorted, and Mattie took a swallow before replying, "I gave a wedding present to a couple, she's in her seventies, he's about twice that." She twisted, "Albus is what, about 150 or so?" Crystal nodded, and she said, "No 'too old' here, ma'am." Carson came up, holding a plastic ball, and Mattie gently threw it a few yards away. He shrieked joyously and splashed off in the pool to retrieve it, and the lady said, "Your dog, he does not desire to play?"

"First, Crystal's a girl, and she's not a dog, she's a wolf," and she rubbed Crystal's ears, they flattened back and she moaned in pleasure, her tail sweeping back and forth. "Now I will admit she has her puppy-like moments. If you want to play fetch with Carson, I don't mind."

Crystal stood, stretching and then shook herself, then bounded into the pool, splashing everyone as the kids shrieked in delight. Carson awkwardly threw his ball, sitting down abruptly as he did so. The water was only a foot or so deep, so he clapped as Crystal nosed the ball in the air, balancing it on her nose, then flipping it back to him. Crouching, she half-submerged in the water, her tail up and sweeping back and forth, creating a minor current. Her eyes tracked the ball as he threw it to a playmate, a little girl in a red one-piece. Turning, she approached, blowing bubbles out her nose, as the girl threw it to another kid in keep-away. Crouching in the shallow pool, she turned, slowly stalking the ball as it got away from the kid. A parent handed it to his son, who shrieked and tossed it, it landing out of the pool. One of the waitresses tapped it with her foot, Mattie caught it and tossed it, it bounced off Crystal's hindquarters, and she proceeded to play 'where's the ball?', keeping it out of sight with her tail as she 'searched' for it.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"They look like they're having fun," one parent said, then reached over, offering his hand, "Larry Ullage, _Detroit Free Press_, Miss Wayne."

She accepted it, "I am on vacation, Mr. Ullage. Not for publication."

"So am I, Miss Wayne, so I'm good with that," he said, while the Frenchwoman said, "Oh, mon Dieu, la Reine elle-même!" (Oh, my God, the Queen herself!), then "Excusez-moi."

"Pas de problème, mais peut-être nous devrions nous en tenir avec l'anglais?" (No problem, but perhaps we should stick with English?) Mattie turned, "I do apologize. It's almost if I can speak French without an implant," and she grinned.

"It is a bit... formal, the choice of words," the Frenchwoman said. "My pardon, I am Madame de Cabrini, from Lyon. What implant do you speak of?"

"A translation implant," and she tapped her jaw. "A nice bit of Gal-tech, the size of a few grains of rice. Its implanted into your jaw, it lets you hear, speak and read different languages, including Trade, which looks like a cross between Arabic and Russian." She stole the ball from Crystal, passing it over to Carson, who flung it again. Mme. de Cabrini caught it, passing it to one of the kids. "Really cheap to license, too."

Mr. Ullage sighed and sat back, holding up his beer bottle, "Miss Wayne, I'd like to schedule an interview with you, tomorrow if possible, but for now, my hands are free of ink." He turned to explain to Mme. de Cabrini, "Print journalists like myself were once known as 'ink-stained wretches' when TV news was first becoming popular. We of course coined the phrase 'talking head' for our counterparts."

"I have no problem with that, Mr. Ullage," Mattie replied, taking a swallow of her own Diet Coke?. "I should mention that two of my relatives are journalists, and they haven't, ah, pulled their punches, so to speak when we've sat across a table." She grinned, "I'm planning on stopping by Metropolis on the way home, so you'll have a beat on the _Daily Planet_ and my Aunt Lois."

"And her husband, Mr. Kent," he nodded in approval. "He started out at the _Planet_, it explains why you've kept your cool. Do you mind a few questions now, on background?"

"As long as you don't mind sharing," she motioned to the two or three other parents. "I'm sure that they'd like to know what their relatives are getting into, and we are here for Carson, so when he wears himself out, we're going in."

"On background," he said, then tossed the ball to the young boy, "This is the Carson from that terrorist incident in London?" Mattie nodded, then motioned to Crystal, "And my friend and guard-wolf, Crystal."

Mme. de Cabrini suddenly looked at the large canine, "A werewolf?" Sitting up, Crystal looked her in the eye and nodded, as Mattie added, "Lycanthropy is a very old medical condition, ma'am. One we've had partial success in breaking, and that some of my best friends also suffer from." There was a definite edge to her voice, and Mr. Ullage asked, "Miss Wayne, how far out have we gone?"

Mattie nodded, thankful for the change of subject as Crystal got out, shook down and walked to the side, then crouched next to Mme. de Cabrini. She offered her hand, "Hello, I'm Crystal. Would you like to talk?" They moved to the side as Mattie replied, "We've visited 112 worlds, we're in the process of establishing trade relations with eight at the moment. The furthest one, in terms of linear distance, is 3500 light years away. By convoy, that's 4200 light years, as it's not direct. Culturally..." she shrugged. "They range from feudal with bow and arrow to energy weapons and starships. One, we're considering opening up to colonization, but we're going to have to arrange things there, and do some preliminary biological testing. That one is in the Orion Nebula, so depending on convoy routing, between 1200 and 1500 light years."

He signaled to a waitress, ordering another beer, as a parent asked, "You said 'arrange things' and 'biological testing', Miss Wayne. Can you give some more information? I'd like to know what my son is going to face."

"First of all, our ships are crewed by experienced people, primarily retirees from the world's navies, and they have some form of Marine on them." He nodded as she continued, "It can be dangerous, there are pirates out there, but unlike the ones here on Earth, these try to capture the ship and crew, so they can sell them."

"I presume these are not movie pirates," Mr. Ullage said. "Nor are these like the pirates in Indonesia and Malaysia."

"The Terran pirates will try to kill you and steal your ship, these star-pirates will try to enslave you and steal your ship," Mattie said. "The most vulnerable time for a ship is between leaving the convoy, which has warships in escort, and entering the controlled space of a system. Depending on the astrography, that could be a few minutes or hours, or a day or so. That's one reason why we have our crews trained with small arms and body armor, so they can not only drive off any boarding attempt, if necessary they can take the fight to the enemy." She finished her bottle, and signaled the waitress, who brought another Diet Coke?. She cracked the top open, "Too many ships just surrender to the pirates, that's why we're using naval personnel, and we've had some successes too. So far," she knocked on the concrete, "we haven't lost a ship."

"It's still early," someone said.

"Yes, it is," Mattie said. "We've had our ships attacked by pirates, maybe we'll get the reputation not to mess with us," and gave a small smile. "The last attack was early last month, our ship beat off three pirates, blowing them apart with his energy cannon. He didn't have missiles, that's one of the things we're working on, an anti-ship missile and a proper warhead for it." She sat back, "A lot of problems with that, guidance heads, drive fields, range of the weapon..." Taking a drink, she added as she screwed the lid on, "Energy weapons are limited range, a few thousand kilometers," and she held up her hand, "Remember, we're talking about solar systems. If our ship is near Earth, and the pirates are near Jupiter, we need a missile that can engage them out there, not when they're orbiting the moon."

"What about a warhead, what about a nuke?"

"A nuke would work only if we could get it in physical contact with the enemy, otherwise all it's going to do is push it away," she replied. "We need something to penetrate the enemy's shields, and physically get inside the ship, and is cheap enough to manufacture in quantity. Something like the old battleship shells, get inside the target ship and explode." She shrugged, "My problem, although that's why we're trying to get gal-tech military designs. I have to assume that they suffer from the same problem that civilian gal-tech equipment has, they get to 'good enough' and stop."

Mr. Ullage waved at the waitress, as the other father did, and fresh beers were brought as Mattie continued, "Generally speaking," and she slid into the shallow water to hold Carson, "and there are exceptions, but generally once something is in wide enough usage to solve a general problem, any innovation stops. It's like shipping merchandise in steam locomotives, it will get there, and you'll spend a lot more time unloading the crates and barrels than a container. There's no real interest in overnight delivery, or using one container instead of six hundred crates. So any plans we have for that anti-ship missile are a starting point, not the end product." She examined Carson, "That means our conversation is over, this little boy needs to have his teeth brushed and go to bed. Good night, everyone."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
Corfu, Agios Georgios, hotel dining room: 07:24 (GMT +2)**_  
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"Good morning, Mr. Ullage," Mattie said as she got in line for the buffet.

He raised his plate as an excuse not to shake hands, "Miss Wayne, this is my wife Nancy, and you remember our daughter Amber from last night."

"I certainly do," she said, raising her own plate in return. "Mrs. Ullage, pleased to meet you," she replied as she took a roll. Smiling, she asked, "Didn't I take a salute from you yesterday?"

"You did," she replied with a grin.

"I thought the name was familiar. If I recall, you got tired of waiting for NASA?" The older woman nodded, and said, "To finally go where no one... well, you know."

"This isn't the _Enterprise_," Mattie said with a grin. "Although we have met with the Wookies, they're a wonderful people, but their planet is straight from the Jurassic." She picked up a sausage link and chomped it, then swallowed, "Where are you posted?"

"Initially, Mars to deploy satellites, then I'm hoping for Titan. What's the scuttlebutt I hear about Phobos?"

Mattie took some eggs, "Right now, we're doing a survey of it, with the possibility of establishing a base there. Once you get your comm satellites placed, then we can start dropping in a small colony there." She took a glass of orange juice, as Mr. Ullage asked, "Why a small colony? Why not more than one?"

"Primarily legal reasons," she replied, and finger-quoted, "The International Court has ruled that the planet Mars, also known as Ma'aleca'andra, is owned, in whole and in part, by the individual J'onn J'onzz, a citizen and native of Mars." She followed them at their invitation, "We've contracted with him for orbital rights, but not surface rights. We have to clean up our mess from all the failed probes and miscellaneous parts before we can colonize with more than a half-dozen people. So, the first thing you're going to do after placing the Martian version of GPS satellites is to launch survey balloons, we need to map the planet down to a centimeter resolution. That's what the small base is for, data collection and a pilot facility."

"Pilot facility sounds dangerous," Mr. Ullage objected.

"We've taken everything we can think of into account," Mattie replied. "Worst case, you've got the ambulance pod. Strap everyone in, hit the button, it launches you off the surface to rendezvous with, in this case, Phobos." She took a bite, chasing it with a sip of coffee.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Musing, "What still surprises me?" as she stacked her plates together, sweeping the crumbs with her napkin. Mattie looked up, "How much we've done, and the scale of some of the things we're doing." Dropping the crumbs from her hand onto a plate, she wiped her mouth one last time, then neatly folded her napkin as she thought. "Two years ago," she started, "Earth, the Terran system, had a partially-built space station in orbit, a few satellites orbiting Mars, and we had a few probes in the outer planets. The furthest any person had gone into space was a dozen men to the moon thirty years ago. Launching a satellite cost millions of dollars, and they had an operational lifetime limited by the fuel supply."

She nodded in gratitude as the waitress refilled her coffee and took away the dishes. She tapped the spoon as she fixed her coffee, plopping an ice cube in after tasting it. "Now," she continued, "we have research satellites orbiting each of the outer planets, we have the start of an asteroid mining and extraction operation, we have an FTL subspace communications network we're installing, instead of one space station in low orbit, we have..." she sat back to count, "several lunar facilities, a station and a platform in LEO, a GEO station, the space hotel at L1, which also serves as a control node, extraction facilities like smelters at L4, building slips and orbital docks at L5, a comm satellite at the moon's L2 position. Nothing at L3, though, Venus perturbs the orbit, but that's just in the space around the Earth and moon. The last I heard, we had close to four thousand people living in cislunar space, and it will go up from there."

Cradling her coffee, she took a sip, "Two years ago, the largest thing we had in orbit was the International Space Station, which was a few hundred meters long. Now, we've got orbital solar arrays that measure kilometers in one dimension, the eastern Mediterranean power sat is modular, it can go out to hundreds of kilometers, and instead of designing your own power and maneuvering systems for your satellite, you can lease space."

Mr. Ullage raised a hand, "Leasing space?"

"Sorry," she replied with a smile. "I don't think that's gotten much press. It's a satellite farm, if you want to call it that. It's a grid, each space is a hexagon a hundred meters on a side, and as our crews, actually this is a Greywolf project." She grinned, "Let me start over. Greywolf has a satellite maintenance and refurbishing project. They can contract with you to refuel and refurbish your dead, expensive satellite and place it back in a legal orbit, or they'll accept a quitclaim on it, and claim salvage rights. Now, that clears the sky of old satellites in graveyard orbits, but one other thing they're doing is a satellite farm."

"Originally, dear, the US and the Soviets just parked their satellites where they wanted," Nancy Ullage said. "Now, there's a traffic jam, they've had to allocate orbital slots to different countries."

"Now, countries without a space industry received slots they had no use for," Nancy said. "Countries like Greece. What a satellite farm does is sell shares in those orbital slots, and instead of one satellite per slot, you can have dozens in a frame. You design your satellite to draw power from the frame, you would lease space in the Greek farm for your satellite, and ship it to our spaceport in Ecuador. They take it up, install it in the correct frame, you do your diagnostics, and everyone's happy, and it costs a lot less. The Greek government has an income from something that they didn't use, they contract with Greywolf for maintenance, and you save an enormous amount of money over launching and replacing a satellite with a rocket."

"Having routine maintenance available also helps to lower your insurance, and having the satellite installed means you don't have to pay insurance, or at least as much, for launch failure," Mattie said. "Furthermore, we can link these farms together in a mesh arrangement, so a farm orbiting in GSO can communicate with lower farms in LEO, which saves in uplink and downlink costs." She took a sip of coffee, "Two years ago, we didn't have that. Now, we have a Caribbean test powersat that's a kilometer on the side, the one in the eastern Mediterranean that we're building is a hundred klicks on a side, and it has six available slots for power transmitters, and it's a data relay satellite." She looked up as Arthur came by, "Hey, there. You have a nice evening?" she asked as she took his hand.

"Yes, but you could have come."

"No, that was your time, Crystal and I were fine with Carson." She looked over, "I'm sorry, please excuse me. Arthur Morton, this is Nancy and Larry Ullage, he's with the _Detroit Free Press_, she's a former NASA person that just commissioned." Arthur leaned over the table to shake hands, then said, "Unless you had something planned, my mom and sisters wanted to know if you wanted to go shopping with them."

"The street market?" Crystal asked, and Arthur nodded. "I'll touch base with our police bloke, back in a tick."

"You're not going to go?" Larry asked. Arthur shuddered dramatically, "Thank you, no. Four sisters, mom, my future sister-in-law Misty, Mattie and Crystal?" That's eight, too much estrogen for me. I'm going to sit around the pool with Carson and the guys and take advantage of the fact that Greece doesn't have a minimum drinking age and try a beer or two."

"Don't get too sloshed, and Carson's in the kiddie pool," Mattie warned. "Did I tell you about my first hangover with Cassidy?"

"Just a couple," he said, raising his hands defensively. "I heard the story from Anne, no juice for me, thanks. My dad was wondering, though if you were going to put some of your photos on line. It would give you something to do on the flight. Anyway, come down to Hank and Misty's room with Carson, number 241, when you're ready."

"Mr. Morton, I'd like to arrange an interview with you, if I can," Mr. Ullage said.

Arthur shook his head, "Sorry. I don't do interviews, and this conversation is, um, what's the term?"

"'Not for publication', dear," Nancy said, and her husband gave her an irritated glance. "It was background material," he said. "What photos?"

"She's a shutterbug," Arthur said, giving Mattie's shoulder a squeeze.

"Remember, we're stopping by Metropolis on the way," Mattie reminded him. "Uncle Perry wanted us to stop by the _Planet_, and he wanted us to meet his wife, Alice. Aunt Lois dropped off a key, we can bunk with Uncle Clark while we're in town."

"Sounds good," he said. "Anyway, I need to get ready. Nice meeting you," and he nodded politely as he left.

"Okay, what's this about 'juice', and your first hangover?"

"Pareek't juice," she started, "It's an offworld drink, tastes a bit like cranberry, but it's got a kick like high-proof whiskey, at least with Terrans. Eridani III doesn't have a minimum drinking age, and I thought this was just regular fruit juice. It tasted good, and I was out with some friends..."

"And you got blotto..." Larry said with a laugh. "One of the great turning points in someone's life, your first drunk, and the first hangover."

"I wanted to die..." she remembered. "Gawd, how embarrassing. Can we change the subject?"

Larry chortled, "Of course, as long as you send me a link to your photos."

"I won't be back on planet until late August or so, e-mail me a copy of your article, please." She dug through her bag, extracting a business card for him. He extracted one from his wallet in trade, and said, "It's been a pleasure, Miss Wayne."

"Likewise, Mr. Ullage."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
Corfu, Agios Georgios, hotel pool: 08:15 (GMT +2)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Arthur, the thing is," his older brother Hank said, "You're with Mattie. That means that, like it or not, you're going to social events with her, and alcohol will be served. That means you're going to need to learn how to drink socially."

"And to hold your liquor," his dad said. "It won't do to be an obnoxious drunk, but people will notice if you drink nothing but tea all evening, and that might blow any deal you're working on." He raised his hand, "Yes, it shouldn't, but in some situations, you need to look like you're drinking."

"Alcohol tastes horrible," Arthur replied, sitting in the kiddie pool and tossing a ball for Carson.

"It's an acquired taste," his dad agreed. He caught the ball and submerged it, making it pop up for his grandson. "However, different situations will require you sipping an occasional drink. Now, there are ways around this, it depends on how good of an actor you can be." He handed over a mixed drink. "Notice this drink. It looks like some version of scotch and soda. Notice that the color is a very pale gold, it fizzes, and there's several ice cubes. Take a sip."

Cautiously, he did so, rolling it around in his mouth. "Hmm."

"Now, to anyone looking at you, you're drinking scotch. What does it actually taste like?"

"Sour Coke?, but..."

"You're close," his dad said. "Coke? is a mixer, so the bar will have it. You tell the bartender you want a 'virgin' drink, let him build you one, a very light one, just enough to color it, with soda for fizz and ice, and then tip him."

"Decently, too," Hank said. "Twenty, thirty percent. When it gets watered down, you abandon it, and if you still need to walk around with a drink, you get another one."

His father handed over a beer bottle, "Another acquired taste, beer has more of a blue-collar atmosphere, or for a pub. With a bottle, you can just wet your lips with it, which is one reason to learn the import beers, especially in dark bottles, like bocks. Now, a cold beer on a hot day does taste really good, it's the kind of beer you might get draft," he picked up his own stein, "or when you're going out with your shipmates. This," he held up the stein, "is what's known as lager, or pilsner. As Americans, we have a reputation for weak beer, most of which is lager like Budweiser?. Notice the very pale gold color."

"Now this," his father held up another stein. "This is ale. Notice the darker, almost brownish color. Bock beer is darker lager, almost black in color, and is a seasonal beer, brewed for special occasions. I would suggest you find one or two good international beers, German or British, and stick with them." He handed it to his youngest son, who took a cautious sip.

"One thing you do need to learn is what your personal limit is, and you don't exceed that," Hank said. "No matter how much your buddies rib you. You also do not, under any circumstance, operate a motor vehicle when you've been drinking. That's why you have designated drivers, and you can always call a cab."

"Generally a bar will ignore cover charges for designated drivers, and comp their drinks," his dad said. "It costs them less to do that then their higher insurance if they get sued. You'll have some sort of wristband or pin for that."

"Moving on to wine," his dad said. "Usually a dinner drink, or a highbrow affair. Generally white for fish and chicken, red or rose for beef. It generally, but not always, has a higher alcohol content than beer. This, like draft beer, you're going to need to actually drink, but you can take your time, and make sure to eat with your drinks."

"Something more substantial than nachos or pub grub," Hank added, as he caught the ball that had gotten out of the pool. He tossed it to a little girl, and Carson chased after her. "No, you want chicken, or fish 'n' chips, or a burger and fries." He took a gulp of the lager, "Ignoring for the moment age, you and Mattie are on the golf course, and you're working a deal with a couple of Senators. What are you drinking?"

"I'm not," Arthur replied. "It affects my game."

"Yes, we're aware of that. However, you've noticed that Mattie isn't playing her best either, the Senators are three or four strokes ahead," his dad said. "This leads you to the conclusion that..."

"...she's throwing the game," his brother said, his beer in his hand. "You know Mattie much better than we do, but even I know she wouldn't do that unless there was a reason. So you pick the wrong club..."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Then you discuss that with Mattie ahead of time, so she can compensate. The thing is, son," his dad said, "you're going to be with the movers and shakers. Some of those people, like the Senators, you need to let them win on a small thing like golf, so you can win on something else. Yes, it's politics, it's a case of scratching backs. So what you do is get a bottle of beer, you dump that, and fill it with water. That gives you the _appearance_ of drinking, son." He captured the ball for Carson again, popping it up from underwater, "Son, a lot of times in life, appearances matter more than reality."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
Corfu, City of Corfu, old town street market: 09:11 (GMT +2)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hmm..." Mattie mused, looking at an array of colorful scarves, "Fashion help, please!" she said.

"Who's it for?" Teela asked, putting her digital camera in her purse.

"My great-granddaughter, I'm thinking Christmas present, but the problem ..."

"Hello, what great-granddaughter?" Teela replied. "Have you and Arthur been doing something?"

"No, no, Cassidy hasn't been born yet," Mattie said, flipping through some scarves. "I have no idea what fashion will be like then, so I have to think of something, well, generic, y'know."

"Oh, _Cassidy_," Julie said. "Why didn't you say so?" She moved to a different pile, "How were you going to preserve it?"

"I was thinking a stasis spell," Mattie replied. "Professor McGonagall set a present aside for me last year, I have to assume she got it. Her birthday's March 15, so I should probably get something for that, too."

"Who's this for?" Becky asked, thanking another shopkeeper and moving closer. She put the package into a large mesh bag as Teela asked, "What's she look like?"

"Cassidy, my great-granddaughter," Mattie said. "Four hundred years from now. She visited a year or so ago..."

"Arthur's got a photo with her in it," Julie interrupted.

"Time travel?" Becky asked.

"It's a bit complicated," Mattie admitted.

"_Everything's_ complicated with you," Julie teased.

"Anyway, I met one of my descendants, and I sent her a combination birthday and Christmas present last year through Professor McGonagall. Since I'm here, I thought I'd get something, tech is out, I have no idea what women's fashion will be like..."

"How old is she, height, coloring... y'know, the important details," Teela asked.

"Hmm. Cassidy is in her early twenties, fairly short haired blonde, about an inch or so taller than Becky, with a slim build and a bit more up top than she does," Mattie regarded the older girl. "She usually wore jumpsuits or jeans, I have no clue about skirt lengths. Look at Anne..."

"Anne's a different matter," Julie objected. "She's coming from the opposite direction, girls then didn't wear anything but long, floor length skirts. Anyway, let's think about substituting Becky for Cassidy." She regarded her older sister, doing some mental substitution, then turned back to the pile.

"How about..." Teela said, when there was a scream and the sound of running feet as a youth shoved his way past, a woman's purse clenched under his arm. Julie turned, wand coming out as Elena moved toward him, and Crystal moved toward his other side. Elena pivoted into a kick as Julie let a Jelly-legs jinx fly, and Crystal used '_Stupefy'_ on him. His legs went out from under him as he folded under Elena's kick, and he dropped unconscious.

"That purse just does _not_ go with his jacket," Teela said judiciously, as Mattie, Crystal and Julie spun, Julie firing off a stunner at a young man who was reaching into Misty's bag. She caught the fringes of the spell as the local police arrived.

"(Good morning, officer)," Crystal said, using a translation spell. She showed her ID, "(I'm Crystal, with SO-1 from England, and we've got a purse-snatching and something else here with this Chinese fellow)," indicating the stunned young man who was clutching something in his hand. "(He was reaching into her purse. How may we assist you?)"

His eyes went wide as he recognized Mattie, "(Your Majesty, I...)."

"(Perhaps you should call for backup, and maybe your sergeant, or your lieutenant)," she suggested to the young officer, as the purse-owner arrived, a middle-aged Japanese woman. The officer grabbed his radio as Julie switched her translation spell, going to talk to the Japanese lady.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
London, Adams home: 12:42 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Right-o, son," Mr. Adams said from Charlie's bedroom door as he pulled off his tie. "You're not usually a church-goer, why today, and why did you set up an appointment with the Vicar?"

"It goes to the gold deck of cards I mentioned in an email," Charlie said, hanging up his church clothes. "I wanted to pass on to Vicar Sedgewick the name of Mattie's home town priest and his email, I got them from her Mum when I emailed her. I know they're Roman Catholic and we're Anglican, but that shouldn't matter too much." He undid his uncomfortable 'meeting' shoes, putting them away. He took a seat at his desk as his Pa sat on his bed, "If I remember, that was after she was rescued."

Charlie nodded, "The key bit is _who_ rescued her, and from where, Pa. You may want a drink, I think I could use one for this tale."

"I have a bad feeling," his father said. "This is beyond being a wizard?"

Charlie nodded, "She was kidnapped by the Yank President, Luthor, and she was being held in their military prison, Leavenworth. You know they still have the death penalty?" Pa nodded, and Charlie continued, "That's where she was being held, unconscious on their military Death Row."

"Outrageous," his father said. "Held without charges, with common murderers." He looked at his son, "There's more? Who rescued her?"

Charlie took a deep breath, "You remember a year or so ago when her mum summoned demons to find her daughter? When she was sent back to the 14th century?"

"I wasn't happy with that," his father said. "Magic is one thing, but..."

"Apparently this time they didn't find her until an assassin under Luthor's orders was in the prison and ready to kill her, so her mum used a desperate measure," Charlie said carefully. "She used a... link to get someone there in time." His father eyed him, "More demons?"

"A bit different," Charlie admitted carefully. "They arrived back at Hogwarts with the Archangel Michael, Death, and..." he hesitated, "Lucifer himself."

His Pa looked at him carefully. "Lucifer. Satan. Her mum summoned the Prince of Darkness himself in order to rescue her daughter."

Charlie looked at his father. "Wouldn't you? To rescue me? The assassin had her gun aimed."

"If it were only my soul, I'd pay it and gladly to make sure you were safe, but it seems an extreme solution," his father said softly. "I see why you wanted to pass on to Vicar Sedgewick the information, and why you set up an appointment." He regarded his son, "What does this have to do with playing cards?"

"Mattie... she played poker with the devil for not only her soul, but her mum and brother's as well," Charlie said softly. "See why I didn't want to discuss this in email?" He chuckled, "The school's unofficial motto is: '_Don't fuck with Wayne_,' and this is only going to enhance it. She beat _the Devil_ at five-card draw with her mum's, her brother's, and her soul in the pot. Then she yelled, _yelled_ at the Archangel Michael and Death herself, the _Grim Reaper_, when they tried to see her hand, because they hadn't paid to see it." He turned, and pulled a printout off his desk. "This is the email I sent to Mrs. Wayne, and her reply."

"That's where the gold playing cards are from," his father said, folding the printout in his hands without reading it. "What did Satan pay to see them?"

"A favor to be named later," Charlie said, "In conjunction with her great unknown purpose to build up the system and move people off planet..." He trailed off, then paled, "I think I've figured it out, and if I'm right," he swallowed, then looked at his father. "We need to look into moving ourselves, and I can see why she's keeping this secret." His father looked at his son, and saw... fear. Fear that he hadn't seen when he discussed demons or Satan himself. Charlie said, "I'll be seeing her in a week or so, I'll confirm my suspicions with her. For now," he took a deep breath, "I need to get my kit together for our bimble."

"I'm not sure you should go, now," his father said.

"Pa, I really think I need to go. I need to see this. I need to see what the galaxy is like."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
London, The Leaky Cauldron: 13:53 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"P'fessor Dumbledore, I need a bit of advice," Sprink said, pulling up a stool at the bar.

"Indeed?" Albus flipped his bar towel over his shoulder, "I was just about to enjoy a cuppa. Perhaps you would like to join me?" he asked the teenager. She nodded, and a saucer floated down, followed by a cup. A stream of tea appeared out of nowhere, and he raised an eyebrow. "Two sugars, please," and two sideways splashes appeared in the stream of tea. The stream redirected itself to his cuppa, as Sprink picked up her teacup, politely waiting for him. The tea cut itself off, and he picked his up, taking a sip and then asking, "Advice on what, my dear?"

Sprink drew her wand, casting a privacy charm, "First, d' you know about Mattie's Oan Ring?" Albus nodded, and she took another sip, "She forgot to pack a bit of jewelry, not her Oan Ring, but this was another, a memory crystal of some sort. Prolly from her uncle, Mr. Kent, which makes it..."

"Kryptonian," Albus said. "I've seen the ring Ms. Lane wears. Oval, looks like a diamond ring?" Sprink nodded, and exhaled. "When we were packing up, we found this ring, and somehow triggered it. It had a conversation..." she licked her lips, "... between P'fessor Snape and one of the Guardians of Oa. They were discussing the future, the near future, within maybe fifty years. Within his, P'fessor Snape's lifetime."

"And you heard this conversation," Albus asked, and Sprink nodded. "The thing is, we, my boyfriend Charlie an' I, found out something about Mattie and Arthur, and her visitor last year, Cassidy."

Albus thought for a minute, "Miss Yates, as I recall. A young blonde lady, from about four hundred years from now?" Sprink nodded. "We found out more about Cassidy than I think we should have." Albus raised his eyebrow, and Sprink said, "You must, must keep this in confidence, sir." He nodded, and she continued, "There is proof, stand-up-in-court proof, that Cassidy is related to both Mattie and, we think, Arthur Morton. Specifically, she's their great-granddaughter."

"Ah. I see."

"We don't think there's anything we can do about that, or even if Charlie and I should. But this with Professor Snape, well..."

"I believe your wisest course, my dear, is to simply let things go. If it distresses you, I can remove the associated memory, but it will leave a gap. Were you the only one to witness this?"

Shaking her head, "No, sir. Ami Bones and Connie Koslowski, in New York."

"With your consent, I will send an owl to Miss Bones, and if you would pass on Miss Koslowski's email address, I shall set up an appointment with her for counseling." A quill and bit of parchment appeared, and Sprink banished her privacy spell, "Thank you very much, sir," she said as she wrote. "It's a load off my mind."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
Royston, Hertfordshire, Bones flat: 14:50 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The owl banked, landing in front of Ami and stuck out its foot. Leaning forward, she untied the message, and offered it a chip. It hooted and waited, eating the potato as she unrolled the note. "Hmm. Professor Dumbledore asks for the pleasure of my company to discuss 'an important concern' that was referred to him."

Her mother looked up from her case notes. "Albus always was cryptic," Amelia said, and sat back, regarding her youngest daughter. After two years in the Snake's Den, she could detect changes, Ami was far more subtle, withheld more information, and her chess game had improved. "I was planning on flooing in to the Cauldron tomorrow," she said. Her youngest nodded, "I'll join you," and stole one of her quills to write a reply to her owl. As she tied the note to the bird's leg, Amelia mentioned, "I hear there was a Grand Council this year."

The bird fluttered off, Ami replying, "Yes, I heard that also," while Susan looked up from her book, "What's a Grand Council?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
Cambridge, MIT Housing: 18:11 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Merritt Stewart, housemother and (sometime) gamekeeper to the insanity, stirred the huge pot of spaghetti over the charcoal fire. They had developed a tradition of having Sunday night spaghetti dinners, and while she had gotten into the habit of cooking for almost a hundred hungry students during the school term, and while there were twenty students that stayed over the summer term, she didn't see any reason to discontinue tradition. Hanging from the iron bar, two large pots, one of the traditional red beef sauce, the other the equally popular white clam sauce, 'blooped' as they bubbled over the fire. On the end, a smaller pot of vegetarian sauce bubbled for those who preferred it.

Kat wandered over, standing on the low brick wall of the barbecue pit to look at the sauces. As she gave them a stir, she said, "Y'know, Ms. Stewart, the British are coming next week. Karen seemed all right, but I'm wondering about her sister, and especially with Chantal."

"Yeah," Merritt said. "I'm wondering the same thing." Chantal Rivers, their acknowledged 'Queen of Pranks' was a blonde with a body that deserved a staple, blue eyes in a face that proclaimed her innocence, and an evil intelligence. She was something of a tomboy, but used her looks, intelligence, and devious nature to always have a perfect alibi. She carried a perfect 5.0 average in a triple major at one of the world's toughest schools, in addition to holding down a part-time job as a waitress.

"My ears are burning..." a honeyed voice said, and they turned. Chantal offered them each a beer, "You guys didn't hear me come in, did you?" Merritt shook her head, and Chantal said, "YES!" and pumped her fist, "My new muffler works!"

"Er, is it street legal?" Kat asked, but Chantal was standing on the barbecue pit's wall, leaning over and spooning the veggie sauce. She shrugged, it was her house-mate's motorcycle. "I dunno, y' think this needs something? Maybe cilantro?"

"Chantal," Merritt said, "I wanted to ask you a favor." The blonde made a 'Hmm?' sound, and Merritt sighed, "You know the two Brits are coming next week. They're going to be on the other side of the wall from you, and one of them, Anne..."

"The younger," Chantal replied, jumping down, sitting on the brick pit's wall, and saying, "From what I've found out, she's supposedly born in 1365. Now, that's either disinformation or they're playing with temporal mechanics across the Pond. Either way, she sounds interesting..."

Merritt shuddered, Chantal finding something 'interesting' gave you the same feeling the IRS did when they found your tax return 'interesting'. It was not good. She sat next to her blonde devil-child, and said, "I'm going to emphasize to you that you're not to prank her. Her sister told us that Anne's sense of moderation is weak, which means if you short-sheet her bed, you're likely to be hung naked by your feet on a street light, IF she didn't run you through with a sword."

"Why would I short-sheet her bed?" Chantal said with an angelic smile.

"Because she already has six patents on file, with three in peer review," Kat replied. "You've always been the top, and that's going to get under your skin. The fact that she's not only a physics nerd..."

"But Anne has a whole lot of financial and political horsepower behind her as well," Merritt said. "_Starting_ with the President of MIT. She's got the Wayne power and billions behind her, girl. She rooms with the Queen of Space, for pity's sake, and she's going to have not only MI-5 bodyguards, but people that can arrest your blonde butt, like the city cops and the FBI. _Please_ leave her alone."

"I just _know_ we're going to be the best of friends..." Chantal chirped, then jumped to her feet and ran off. "Oh, gawd..." Kat moaned.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 2, 2002:  
London, Spinner's End: 19:56 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Really, Severus, it's not the end of the world," Bella said. "I'm already taking classes at muggle universities. I've adapted, and if I can, you can."

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, growled to himself as his... girlfriend? He wasn't quite sure, but Bellatrix Black, former Death Eater and mistress of the Cruciatus curse threw back her head and laughed, "Sevvy, dear, think it through. Five years after Voldemort is dead and rotting away somewhere, the wizarding job market for us is still tight, especially for the higher profile people like you and I. We managed to escape Azkaban, but we still need to eat, therefore, we look at the muggle market. That requires certification and college classes, medicine for me, education training for you. Let me tell you, the greatest challenge will be NOT hexing some arrogant professor, and you will have your colleagues from Hogwarts there for most of your classes."

"Except for Minerva," he grumbled.

"Minerva has already done this," she replied. "She also has to hold the school's wards. Now, what will you wear tomorrow, and don't tell me robes." She eyed him, "I think it might be worthwhile for us to pick up something besides black for you to wear."

"No!" he seethed. "If I must do this, I will wear what I wish."

"Suit yourself," she said, finishing her wine and standing. "Shall I meet you for lunch tomorrow? You do have my mobile number?"

"Yes..." he admitted. The blasted mobile phones were an incredibly useful gadget, although he was loath to admit it to anyone, especially Bella.

"Then I shall see you tomorrow," she said, strolling to the door. He rose to accompany her, holding the door as she walked past his garden gate and his wards, and apparated away.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 3, 2002:  
University of London, Institute of Education: 07:42 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ah, Severus, there you are!" Filius said happily, his feet swinging from the bench. "I did not see you on the Tube."

"Only at wandpoint will I use the Underground," he replied, as Filius held up his tea, "There's still time for you to get a take-away."

"Thank you, no," he replied, as Pomona said, "Oh, cheer up, Severus. Think of what you'll learn!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Professor Knewell looked his newest class over, as usual it was a bit of a mixed bag. There were some unusual ones, though. A tiny little fellow with a full white mustache and beard, he couldn't have been more than four feet tall sat next to a tall, lanky fellow with long greasy black hair and a hooked nose, wearing all black. An absolutely huge fellow with a wild head of hair and equally wild beard wedged himself into a seat, then turned around in response to someone behind him. He nodded, got up and said something to a bloke next to him, who nodded and joined him at the back. The chair there creaked alarmingly as the petite Chinese girl who had sat behind him leaned to talk to her friend and giggled. Two women came in, one peeling off to speak to him.

"Good morning," she said. "I'm Callista Vector, and I wanted to let you know ahead of time that July first through fifth, I won't be able to make class."

"Thank you, Ms. Vector," he said as he made a note, "Any particular reason?"

"I'm Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, I'll need to hold the school's wards while Minerva's on her honeymoon," she replied casually. He looked at her, "...wards?"

"Yes, the school's defenses, I have to be physically present in the school." She regarded him, "You were notified of our attendance? We have to have muggle certification now." He blinked, and she added, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Magic?"

"Oh. Yes, I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you to..." He blinked, "What do you, err, teach, Ms. Vector?"

"Arithmancy," she said, "And now, for the school to qualify for the GCSE's, the other mathematics, like calculus and trig." She smiled, amused, "You were expecting a wart on my nose?"

"Err, well, you look so, well, normal. Are your colleagues here as well?"

She turned to look at the classroom, "Oh, yes, but Hagrid looks a little cramped. The large fellow in the back," she clarified.

The bell rang, and he said, "Here we go!" She moved off, taking the seat that the Hagrid fellow had, and he cleared his throat, "Good morning, everyone, and welcome. Let me get the roll, please." He flipped open the file folder, "Ms. Felicia Addams?" A hand waved, and he called, "Ms. Narcissa Black?" A tall, elegant blonde woman said "I am present," in a cultured voice, and he nodded, "Ms. Lara Croft?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Now then," he said, closing the roll, and checking his seating chart. "I'd like to go down the rows, find out what teaching experience you have in what. Let's start in the back, Mr. Potter, was it?"

"Er, yes, I'm Harry Potter, I teach DADA at Hogwarts." The Hagrid fellow leaned over, and he clarified, "Um, DADA is Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Which you should have learned first," the tall blonde Ms. Black commented.

"I've done all right, Narcissa," he replied. "How's your husband, Lucille? Still a succubus?" She spun, drawing a thin piece of wood, and he was standing, right hand cupped, fingertips sparkling. Seemingly half the class was on their feet in a defensive stance, sticks in their hands. Professor Knewell rapped on his lectern, "Please be seated, everyone, and put away your, er, sticks."

"Wands," the large fellow Hagrid said in a thick West Country accent, putting away a pink umbrella. He cleared his throat, "Right, then. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and P'fessor o' Magical Creatures." Several people turned to look at him, and the fellow with the greasy hair turned, "You are _not_ bringing anything 'interesting' in. That includes your overgrown lizard Norbert."

"I was thinkin' o' Fluffy, he gets lonely..."

"Er, just what is Fluffy?" some brave soul asked.

"Hagrid's pet hellhound," Ms. Black replied. "Fifteen feet at the shoulder, with three heads." She shifted in her chair, "Norbert, on the other hand, is a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon the size of one of those red two-level things on the road."

"It's called a Routemaster bus, Ms. Black. I presume that... Norbert, was it? That he breathes fire?"

"All proper dragons do," Mr. Hagrid said happily. "Ah, a sweet little lass, she's still got plenty o' growin' tae do. See, she's got a special gland in her head..."

"Thank you, Mr. Hagrid. Moving on, Ms. Kloves, was it?"

Ms. Kloves edged away from Hagrid, who beamed at her, and she said, "Stephanie Kloves, I'd like to teach preschool, right now I'm working at a child minders."

"That's wonderful, Ms. Kloves. Moving on," he looked at the next row down, and the woman said, "Felicia Addams, I..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Lara Croft, and I know that we seem a bit... strange, but we're really normal folk. I teach Ancient Runes, and I like to travel. Until these classes came up, I was planning on Mongolia this summer."

"Why not someplace like, oh, Greece?" someone asked.

"Been there, done that, got the stela," she said with a smile.

"Right, then," a rather rumpled, sandy-haired fellow said. "I'm Remus Lupin, I teach History at Hogwarts, and I regret to say that I'll be out on the 24th and 25th of this month." He shrugged. "Full moon, you see."

"Don't tell me, a werewolf?" someone asked, and he sighed and nodded. "Yes." He turned to look across the aisle. "Severus?"

"Severus Snape. Potions Master," he snapped.

The short fellow with the white hair and beard squeaked happily, "Oh, it's my turn! Filius Flitwick, I'm the Charms Master at Hogwarts."

"Please tell me, Mr. Flitwick, what is a 'charm'?" a student asked.

"It's a spell that makes something behave un-naturally." He pointed his st... wand at the instructor's desk, and _hair_ started to grow from it. He sat back, humming to himself, as the non-wizards stared, fascinated. A young woman turned around, "Mr. Flitwick, was it?" He smiled and nodded, "Can you, um, make it a different colour, like blue?"

"Certainly, my dear," he said happily, and flicked his wand. The hair changed to a pale blue, and he asked, "Tell us about you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Professor Knewell set down his briefcase next to the stool in his local, and signaled to the bartender. He nodded, finished with his current customer, and set the Professor's usual on the bar. He turned away to serve another, and when he had turned about, the Professor was setting down his empty glass.

Raising his hand, the Professor signaled for another. As he poured a fresh ale, he said, "Classes are starting up, aren't they?"

"Oh, yes," the Professor replied. "Two more, please, this was one of _those_ days."

Tom set them in front of the Professor, "Are you sure? You usually just have one, maybe two."

The Professor raised his half-full second pint, downing it and saying, "The wizarding school you heard of, Hogwarts? Their staff needs to be certified, and they are. But the Ministry also says they need to be licensed, and I've got them."

"Surely they're not that bad," Tom the barman asked. "They seemed to be decent blokes on the telly."

"Some of them are," he admitted, as the waitress came up to the bar. "Others are just plain weird. One of them grew hair on my desk!" He started on his third pint as the waitress departed, and a fellow got up from the bar, moving down and asking, "May I?" Without looking up, the Professor waved, and the fellow motioned, "One for the professor on me."

"Thank you, sir," and he turned around to see a familiar face... "Mr. Potter, isn't it?"

"It is," he allowed. "Would you like to join us, one teacher to another, and share a drink as well as a war story?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 3, 2002:  
Metropolis International Airport, Floo arrivals gate: 07:52 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The fire from Athens flared green, and Crystal stepped out, examining the area, then stepped aside as the fire flared again for Miss Wayne, and lastly for Mr. Morton. They stepped away from the fireplaces, and walked toward a bloke in uniform with a sign reading 'International Arrivals'.

"Good morning, and welcome to the United States," he said, running a wand over them. "Please enlarge any luggage, and I'll need to see your passports."

"Certainly, mate," Crystal replied, handing over her British passport and SO-1 identification. She enlarged her luggage from her bag, stepping through the scanner as he motioned.

"Thank you," he said, and Mattie stepped up for her examination, enlarging her baggage and putting it on the belt for the x-ray machine. "Welcome back, Ms. Wayne," he said, then motioned, "Next, please?" Arthur stepped up, was duly examined and welcomed, and the three of them collected and re-shrunk their bags. "Excuse, me," Arthur asked. "Where can we catch a cab?"

"Outside the main concourse," the TSA agent snapped. "I'm not a travel agent."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"...yes, mom, we're fine," Mattie said into her phone. "We're going to swing by the _Planet_, grab some lunch and do some shopping, then we'll get Arthur home." She listened, nodding a few times, adding, "I love you too, mom. See you in a day or so." She hit the kill switch, then held it up, "Want to call home?"

"They'll need to connect through New York," Crystal said. "Then a local fire, give them a few hours."

"You know, Crystal, you didn't have to come," Mattie began gently. "I'm not exactly helpless."

"I'm assigned to you," she replied. "They would have my head, and rightly, if I were to leave you."

"Crystal, I'm going on from here to Gotham, my hometown. It is _not_ London."

"Only if you dismiss me," her bodyguard replied. "Besides, how bad could it be?" Arthur laughed hollowly, and stepped forward, "Taxi!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Bloody big building," Crystal said, admiring the large lobby with its 1920's décor, and the _Daily Planet_ logo, inset in bronze in the marble floor. "If you don't mind, I'll just freshen up..."

"Good idea," Mattie said. "Arthur, will you excuse us?" He nodded, and said, "I'll be in the coffee shop, the floo makes me thirsty."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 3, 2002:  
Boston, Logan International Airport: 08:02 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

With a whine and a thumping jolt, the big Boeing touched down. Anne starting to get ready when one of the protective agents held out her hand. "Wait until the seatbelt sign is off, we're first off."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Dick Grayson waited with the dozen or so different cops, some wearing jackets marked 'FBI', 'US Customs' or 'US Secret Service', while others like himself were plainclothes and wore their badge. He sipped his coffee, the airline had opened up their first-class lounge to them. He turned to see airline personnel take up their positions to debark passengers, one of them called to the people waiting, "The aircraft has landed, it will be a few minutes. We thank you for flying El Al."

"Excuse me," one of the waiting relatives asked, "We haven't seen this kind of security before. What's going on?"

"VIP passengers, ma'am," one of the Shin Bet security agents answered. The grey haired woman raised her eyebrow, "Who is it, the Queen?"

"Not quite, mum," one of the MI-5 agents said in a Lancashire accent. "Arrowhead's chief scientist."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The airline personnel had escorted Anne and her party off the plane first (to the annoyance of several other first-class passengers), and she was escorted into the small airport lounge where identities were established. Dick smiled at the two young Brits, informing them, "I hope you don't mind, but I have a wife and a week-old daughter at home, so I'm going to..."

"Bugger off?" Karen asked with a grin. "Bring them some flowers, mate, and let your wife know we thank her for letting us borrow you. Our regards to Miss Wayne and all that, now shoo," and she flicked her fingers. "G'wan, off with you now."

Anne had just gotten off her mobile, she asked, "Where doth Mattie be?"

"Metropolis, I believe," Dick said. "If you're sure now?"

"Thou hath discharged thy duty, Sir Richard," Anne said with a grin. "Prithee take thy steed and anon to thy hearth and home with our gratitude and best wishes."

Karen looked at her sister, "Oy, that's flowery even for you."

Anne concentrated, "I believe the 'modern' term woulds't be..." she paused, "Karker off, mate!" and several of the accompanying Brits stifled their laughter.

One said, "Bugger off, miss. The term would be 'Bugger off'." He twitched his head, "G'wan, mate. We got it covered. Don't forget the flowers unless y' want to sleep on the couch."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 3, 2002:  
Metropolis, GNN studios: 12:59:50 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"... I have a collection of coffee mugs, one from every interview I've done. I need to get a company mug from each of you," Mattie warned the panelists with a grin, who chuckled as they put down their own mugs. The line producer said "We're live in five, four,...."

"Hello and welcome to GNN's _Crossfire_, I'm Clark Kent in Metropolis. With me in the studio today as panelists are reporters from the _Los Angeles Times_, _Chicago Tribune_, _Miami Herald_, and the _Daily Planet_. As our guests today we have Mr. Donald Moss of Earth United!, and Ms. Mattie Wayne of Arrowhead Investments, Ltd." He shuffled a few papers that he used as a prop, "I would remind our home viewers that as a public service we are co-sponsored by Public Broadcasting and the Wayne Foundation, this is live, with no commercial interruptions." He turned slightly, "Mr. Peter Howard of the _Miami Herald_, your first question."

"Thank you, Mr. Kent. My question is to Mr. Moss, regarding..."

"She doesn't look like this bothers her at all," Arthur said from where he watched in the nearby green room. He reached out and grabbed a carrot stick from the deli tray to munch on.

"We know better," Crystal agreed, as Mattie said, "I would like to mention to the home viewers..."

"Excuse me, Ms. Wayne," Clark said, "Mr. Moss has the floor."

She blinked, "My apologies, Mr. Moss."

After he finished, Mr. Kent turned to her, "Ms. Wayne, I believe you had a comment?"

"Yes, and a question myself. I'd like to say that the sponsorship by the Wayne Foundation does not mean I have any form of editorial control. I didn't know who the panelists would be until five minutes before air, and I ask them not to throw me softball questions." She turned, "Mr. Moss, the last interview I shared with a member of a Green organization, such as yourself, I put a question to her I never heard an answer to."

"That would, of course, depend on the question," Donald Moss replied, to general chuckles. Mattie smiled slightly, "Certainly," and a visibly pregnant Lois Lane of the _Daily Planet_ put down her own mug, "Which question is that, Ms. Wayne?"

"I think you were there, Ms. Lane," Mattie replied. "The question was regarding shipments of high-level nuclear waste to launch sites. The two most commonly used methods of getting any sort of cargo off the planet were rocket launch and lifting it off through our starport in Ecuador."

"I do remember that," Lois said, co-opting the question.

In the green room, Arthur chuckled nastily at the screen, and Crystal looked over at him. "Lois and Mattie are related, she's Mattie's Aunt, and the moderator, Mr. Kent, is married to Lois, so he's her Uncle. Lois Lane has an evil reputation as an interviewer, she gave Mattie her first training in interviews. But she has never played softball with Mattie in an interview, and Mr. Kent is no slouch either."

On the screen, Constanza Arroz of the _Los Angeles Times_ leaned forward, "Let's talk nukes in space, Ms. Wayne. There is some concern with you having your own private navy."

"The Solar Guard is more like the Coast Guard," Mattie replied. "The heaviest unit we have on the drawing boards is a light cruiser, and we've just deployed two frigates, light units. Our concern in the system is the same as any organization like the Coast Guard, territorial integrity, enforcement of law, search and rescue, and the emplacement and maintenance of navigational aids. Your readers should be very familiar with the duties of the Coast Guard, our roles are similar."

"That's well and good, Ms. Wayne, but what about nukes?" Lois volleyed the question back.

"Let's separate this into two categories," Mattie replied, holding out one hand, then the other. "Nuclear power, fission, and nuclear weapons, fission or fusion." She turned slightly, "Now, most of the orbital works, stations, and so forth are in or near Earth orbit, which means we can use solar power. However, we run into the inverse-square law regarding power, which pretty much limits our use of solar power to Mars orbit."

"Back to nukes," she said. "In space, solar power is much less of a problem. However, for ships and satellites beyond Mars' orbit, you need literally acres of solar cells to power a clock-radio, which is not cost-effective. The alternative is some variant of nuclear power."

"And nuclear weapons?" Ms. Arroz asked.

"Quite honestly, I don't need them, and I'm much happier _not_ having them," she replied. "Let's look at why not. First, if one of my crews is trying to stop a smuggler in a starship, and they set off a nuke next to the smuggler, all it's going to do is shove them around a bit. They might break the captain's teacup, but that's about it. You need to penetrate the ship's shields in order to do any damage. It's like firing at a tank. You need special weapons to penetrate the tank's hull and kill the crew. Right now, we're firing a pistol at a tank, which doesn't do a lot of good. We do have intelligence crews out there now looking for those ship-killer missiles, so we can reverse-engineer them to kill that tank, but as of right now, we don't have them."

"Being a former Army guy, I can appreciate that," Charles Rivers of the _Chicago Tribune_ said. "However, the armor on a tank is not equally thick."

"True, and this is part of the R & D I've mentioned," Mattie replied. "Right now, the most vulnerable part of a ship is it's arse, pardon me, the stern." People chuckled, and Mattie grinned, "I think that will go on the blooper reel."

Taking another sip of coffee, she continued, "Two reasons for the stern. The main cargo hatch is there, and the drive coils are there, so what we need to do is trash those drive coils. _Then_ we can send in the boarding party." She took another sip of coffee, "Several problems with that, the first is getting the weapon in place. I don't think people quite understand the distances involved. On Earth, the longest ranges are intercontinental, maybe eight thousand kilometers. In space, point-blank range is several times that, two hundred thousand kilometers. A long distance shot would be several hundred million kilometers, or from Earth to Jupiter."

She swiveled in her chair, "Second problem, in the Guard, we're concerned with pirates and smugglers, so there's no need for battleships and carriers. We see an unauthorized ship, they're going to be asked to heave to for inspection, just like the Coast Guard does with a suspicious fishing boat. However, if the suspected bad guy doesn't, we need to be able to engage him, knock out his engines and shields, then send in the boarding party." She swiveled again, coffee cup in hand, "So, we've got different weapon mixes. Our cruiser needs to be able to chase down and disable the bad guy's ship, so they need longer ranged missiles, as well as close in self defense weapons. The assault shuttle, on the other hand, is like a helicopter with troops. It needs self defense weapons, but its primary job is to deliver the Marines."

"So what would be knife-range?" Mr. Rivers asked.

"A few hundred kilometers, and the ship's missile ranges would be five AU or so. The problem we have there are the missiles themselves. Right now, the best drive coils we can produce for a missile are about 3,000 gees. We need about 15,000 gees, a much faster flight time, maneuverability, and a warhead that will penetrate to do some damage. We also need to have it locally produced, so we can do maintenance and upgrades on it, in addition to the security aspects of letting someone know about our defenses."

In the green room, Crystal said, "She seems so comfortable," and Arthur shook his head, "She doesn't like being on stage like this, she's the kind who likes to go barefoot."

"She doesn't show it, she looks like she's having fun."

Mr. Howard from the _Miami Herald_ said, "In your interview with Larry Ullage of the _Detroit Free Press_, you had mentioned a possible colony. Can you give us more details on that?"

"Certainly, although any sort of possible settlement is several steps away," Mattie said. She swiveled in her seat, "First of all, the planet in question is in a binary system roughly 1200 light years from here. It's a water world... sorry, I mean the surface is habitable. It's not a desert planet. The star it orbits is a G5, and they have not one, but two asteroid belts, the inner one is from about .9 AU to 7 AU, so it's a huge one, the outer one is about the same size ours is, roughly two AU."

"I'm not an astronomer, Ms. Wayne," Mr. Howard said. "Can you restate that, please?"

She smiled, "Certainly. Earth orbits the sun at one Astronomical Unit, or AU, which is 93 million miles or about 150 million kilometers. Our asteroid belt is between Mars and Jupiter, so it's distance is at three to five AU or about 450 to 750 million kilometers. On this planet, which is called Windfall, it orbits a little bit closer at .8 AU or..."

"120 million kilometers," Mr. Kent said.

"Thank you," Mattie said. "Their star is a bit dimmer than ours. They don't have a large moon like we do, but they do have a very close, rich asset in their inner asteroid belt, which goes from .9 AU, or 135 million kilometers, to 7 AU, or..."

She paused to do mental math, and Mr. Kent said, "1050 million, or a shade over a billion kilometers." He shifted, "Ms. Wayne, in the interview you mentioned an existing failed colony. Why did it fail?"

"First of all, there are three colony sites we know of on Windfall. From what our Intelligence people there tell us, about seventy years ago, they suffered a devastating, sudden plague. It killed about seventy percent of the males overnight, the females seemed to be carriers." She held up a hand as they reacted to that, "The remaining site, which was a fishing village on an island at sea, survived by imposing an immediate quarantine, but they still got hit. As it stands now, they have a population of around two hundred thousand, of which thirty five thousand are male, and of the females, fifty thousand are slaves."

"Seventeen percent males, and thirty percent slave girls," Mr. Howard said. "What's the current status?"

"The last report I saw was dated late December. Regarding the Island site, the ship's surgeon had no reports of plague for at least twenty years. There are two sites on the main continent, one is on a small island in the mouth of the main river, the other is what we believe was the initial, primary colony site. That's up a river we've named the Danube, in the foothills of a mountain range." She swiveled in her seat again, "We sent a supply ship to our people at the Island site, but unfortunately it had to make an emergency landing at the River site. While it is going through a precautionary quarantine, the ship's surgeon has found no evidence of disease, however the site is deserted."

"What about the third site, I believe you said it was in the foothills?" Mr. Rivers asked.

"We haven't had anyone there yet," she replied. "The people from Island sent a shuttle about fifty or sixty years ago, it was apparently shot down by the local inhabitants, who were reported as 'feral'." She shrugged, "We really don't know more than that, the locals didn't follow up. However, since that seems to be the initial colony site, and it is alleged to have manufacturing capabilities as well as a large database of technology, we're interested in it."

"So let's move on," Ms. Lane said. "You don't need settlers to exploit the locals."

"First of all, Ms. Lane, any possible _settlement_ (she emphasized the word) would be later." Mattie turned in her chair, "The first step is to gather information. Right now, we have an intelligence team there that is in pursuit of technology. They are not equipped or trained for any sort of investigation of this type, what we have is in the nature of background political and economic information."

"The information we would need, according to preliminary planning, would not only be on this disease, but on the environment. Now, our people have not had major problems regarding the local foods, one developed an allergy to a type of tea, another a slight mineral deficiency. With those minor exceptions, our people are reported in excellent health." She turned in her chair, "The current Island tech level is about 1940's vacuum tube, with animal-drawn carts. Somewhat rural, but that's understandable. They do have excellent, advanced ceramics tech, which we are interested in."

"That's all very nice, Ms. Wayne," Lois said. "How do you keep from exploiting the locals?"

"Exploiting is a slippery word, Ms. Lane," Mattie replied. "Before we trade with the locals, we need better information, not only on their strengths and weaknesses, but on the local environment. That's why we will be deploying a larger ship with two general missions." She held up her right hand, index finger out. "The first mission is to acquire better intelligence on the main Danube site in the foothills, so we'll be landing a team there. They'll determine the status of the site, and what happened to the original colonists."

Holding up a second finger, she said, "The second mission has two parts. The first is finding sites for research stations. Going by orbital scans, we're looking at some small islands where we can put in test fields of wheat, corn, rice and so forth. We also want to check Terran food animals, so there will be chickens, cows, pigs, goats, etc. We have issued a contract to several universities for preliminary designs for this, this is putting boots on the ground to survey the islands, find out about the water supply, drainage, winds, that kind of thing." She swiveled a bit, "The second part of that is to install automated monitoring equipment."

"What kind of automated monitors?" Mr. Moss asked.

"Air pressure, humidity, temperature, water salinity and so forth," Mattie replied. "The sites include tropical, seacoast, river and mountain locations, so the equivalent of Puerto Rico, Charleston, St. Louis, and Montana. We would put in a small Quonset hut with a satellite dish for communication and weather information. We also need to find out what kind of local wildlife there is. The consensus of opinion is to put in a water pump, probably wind powered, and a series of water pools, sized for the different kinds of critter. We can capture pictures of those on camera for the Environmental Impact Statement and upload them to our comm satellites."

"I was going to ask you about that," he said.

"The problem is that we have absolutely zero information beyond there's air to breathe, Mr. Moss. This isn't like putting something in a Terran site, where we have years of data, this is a completely virgin site. We can make assumptions, but that's all they are, assumptions. Something like that small Quonset hut in the middle of the woods, a bush airstrip of gravel and a concrete foundation for the hut will probably be as minimally invasive as we can make. We know that there's a daily morning rain shower at the lower latitudes, but almost nothing about the rest of the planet."

She shrugged, "We can guess based on orbital surveys, but we just don't know. For instance, it's a reasonable assumption that the local wildlife will drink water. We set up a water point for the wildlife, with some water tanks which overflow to keep the water fresh, there's enough native landscaping so the smaller ones can drink and hide from predators, and we point cameras, all very passive." She swiveled a bit, "We know there are saltwater fish species the locals catch for food, but nothing about freshwater species, and nothing about larger aquatic species, like sharks and whales."

"You mentioned agricultural stations," Mr. Moss said. "What about those?"

"The Island site is in an archipelago, like the Philippines or the Marianas, it's on one of the larger islands. What we're looking for is some isolated islands about five or ten square miles each, that the universities we contract with can plant test crops on. This way, we'll know if wheat or corn or rice collect any local bugs, and see how things like carrots and potatoes grow." Mattie turned and said, "With..."

"Tell us about how..." Ms. Lane started.

"Ms. Lane, Ms. Wayne has the floor," Mr. Kent said.

"Sorry," Lois said, and Mattie grinned, "Mr. Moss, I was just going to add that having several research sites gives us redundancy. If the island operated by a Taiwanese university has the same results as one operated by a German or Polish one, I think we can stand by those results. Ms. Lane?"

Lois smiled, "Ms. Wayne, I'm still wondering about your colonization plans, and how will you keep from exploiting the natives and the colonists?"

The other journalists chuckled as Mattie grinned, and replied, "It's hard to stop talking when it's a great subject. I apologize, Ms. Lane, but I'm clearly not following your question. Can you restate it, please?"

"Certainly," Lois said. "I'm defining 'exploit' by using a situation or a person in an unfair manner. By overworking or underpaying them, and getting a benefit from that situation."

"Ah, thank you," Mattie said, then tented her fingers, swinging back and forth in her chair. "If I follow you correctly, Ms. Lane, you're referring to labor law."

"In part," Lois said. "If you find a massive gold deposit on the Island site, and pay the ignorant farmer pennies on the dollar to mine it, what then?"

"It depends on the existing law. I'd certainly think that was some form of fraud. However, if the surveyor laid out the cash to do the survey, and there wasn't any sort of existing public information..." she shrugged. "I don't know. I'd let the courts thrash it out. It depends on what rights the farmer let go in his sale of mineral rights. All I can say is that in our existing orbital smelters, we go by core samples to mortgage the rock. That's like saying there's oil underneath your vegetable garden, you have to dig to find out for certain. I do appreciate the question, that's something we'll definitely have to look into."

Mattie swung in her chair, "Regarding the labor law, remember we are dealing with a slave state. Human rights groups define that as having more than twenty percent of your population as slave. When the Confederates did a census, they defined a slave as 'three-fifths' of a free person. We do know that there is no safety regulations for the workplace, we don't know if there's anything like a minimum wage or working hours. The day there is thirty hours long, as the planet rotates more slowly than Earth does. I can say that when we've hired locals, we've paid a living wage and done shifts."

She raised her hands, "As I've said, we need to resolve the issues I've mentioned, and then we need to do some negotiating with the locals. Remember, we have a lot of government involvement, if our people suddenly start to beat the help, it's going to get fixed quick. Does that help?" She swiveled in her seat, "We're far away from any sort of settlement or colonization, much less any sort of economic or political (she finger-quoted) 'exploiting' of them. We've got several problems to sort out first."

She held up her right hand's index finger, "First problem, the disease, is it still active, and if so, where? That's why we're going to put in those people from the World Health Organization." Holding up a second finger, "Environment. What's the weather like, and are there any microbes that can kill us? Are there bears in the woods?" A third finger went up, "Do we resuscitate the Danube site in the mountains, or do we start fresh somewhere else, and if so, where? Those are the scientific questions, the _easy_ questions," and people chuckled. "I'd like to quote, 'When you deal with the lives of your people, you move slowly and carefully.' I'm just as impatient as anyone else, but this makes too much sense."

She turned, "Our experience so far with colonies has been here in this system, so we're feeling our way with this extra-solar situation. They have the advantage of a foundation of Terran international law, what the in-system colonies operate under is a contract of incorporation. They are essentially a business with our being a majority stockholder. They are in a progressive buy-out of our shares as they hit various milestones, with the settlers owning shares. They vote in whatever local law they feel they need in that colony."

"However, we don't have that foundation with an extra-solar colony, or the settlers. Therefore, a fourth finger (she held up all four) is the legal situation. Do we extend Terran international law to another solar system? Do we use the Interstellar Commercial Code, which is the closest thing to interstellar law? What about the Island site's Council of Elders? Now, they properly clamped a quarantine on the island under emergency law. However, they have since kept power as an oligarchy, a small handful of five people that have total power, long after the medical emergency passed. How do we deal with them? Do they have legal jurisdiction over the planet, or just their one site? If it's the entire planet because of their previous existence, then their civil and criminal laws would apply, which would mean the enslavement of any criminals. If it's just their one site, what do we put in, and what about extradition of our respective criminals?"

She swiveled in her chair again, "That means that if one of their slaves escapes from her master and lands in our colony, do we return her, knowing that her escape is a capital offense on the Island site and she'll be executed by slow torture? It also means that we would need to have a judicial slave market." She turned in her chair again, "If they only have jurisdiction over their own island, what do we do about extradition and stowaways? Where are the legal, and the moral limits?"

"So our colonists would have no rights is what you're saying," Ms. Lane replied.

"No. What I'm saying is we need to negotiate with the Island site's Council of Elders. They are an existing legal authority, what we need to do is determine how far their authority goes. Does it extend to the rest of the planet, or just a few miles off-shore? After that, we draw up contracts for the local settlement as a business unit. Any settlers would be stockholders in that business. Those settlers, as part of their buy-in contract would also agree to a list of rights and responsibilities." She put down her coffee mug and tented her fingers, "For instance, they would have the right to free speech and a free press, but they would also have the legal responsibility to vote in an election, which would include, by the way, 'None of the above'."

"That's something I wouldn't mind seeing on a ballot," Mr. Rivers said. "You mentioned benchmarks. What are some of those?"

"Each installation is a business," Mattie replied. "They operate under a contract, articles of incorporation. They have a balance of trade, the benchmarks are steps on the road to independence. For instance, the lunar colonies require ninety days supply of food, water and air in reserve, the idea being you have to be able to breathe before you vote. It progresses to having educational, medical, and other facilities like transportation in place and working."

"Let's choose an example," Mr. Howard asked. "You mentioned a 'Charleston' site."

"That's a working name, the location has a superficial resemblance to Charleston. It has a deep harbor, a river estuary with a nice sized island in the mouth, and if you follow rivers upstream, you come close to one of the major inland rivers, which we've named the Bug. Using modern equipment, you could dig some canals between the two, and have a nice trade route, like the Erie Canal."

"And the existing mountain site?" Ms. Arroz asked.

"We really don't know yet," Mattie said, and raised her hands. "That would be nice, the infrastructure is built. All we'd need to do is start up the generators, do some cleaning and plant new crops. It is reported to be the original manufacturing site. In six months or so the site could be functioning, but we just don't know what the status is yet."

"You mentioned a balance of payments," Mr. Kent said. "Explain that one, please."

"Arrowhead and the Guard are private companies, with significant government investment," Mattie replied. "We all have a bottom line. Initially, like any new location a business invests in, they won't make back what is put into it, the settlement is going to have a tough enough time putting food on the table. However, the orbital colonies we're building, and presumably this one also, have a Governor. The Governor's responsibilities are to provide civil government and emergency services like police, fire, and health care, but also to promote trade and business. He is the head of state."

Swiveling in her chair, "Let's assume that the Danube mountain site is like the River site. That site was evacuated, the lights were off, doors locked, everything neat and tidy. We have no idea where the people are." She waved a hand, "We're also going to assume that the doctors we're taking from the World Health Organization give us a clean bill of health, so we don't have to worry about disease. All we need to do is fire up the generators, do some cleaning, and plant crops. Now, all of this so far has put the settlement's balance sheet in the red, because those doctors and those seed crops cost money to buy and pay and ship. We're going to say that costs fifteen million."

She swiveled in her chair, "Another assumption is that manufacturing plans are still viable, and the equipment needed to do so is in good repair. Now, they've got that huge asteroid belt just overhead, so some of the first things I think they'd make would be spacecraft and mining equipment."

"Now, this is something I've said before about our own Belt. Let's assume that our brave settlers pick a common, one kilometer asteroid. That size makes up seventy percent of our asteroid belt, so it's a safe assumption here. That rock masses about two billion metric tons; two trillion kilos. Of those, ten percent, or 200 million metric tons, is pure iron. Another thirty million metric tons is high grade nickel, one and a half million metric tons of cobalt. Just to salt the mix, you've got several thousand metric tons of things like platinum, osmium, and rubidium, which run several thousand dollars a gram. Not a kilo, a gram. You've also got little things like gold and silver, and people have found rough diamonds the size of softballs." There were some low whistles, and Mattie smiled, "I've said before, if you want to make money, you go to the Belt."

"So, our Governor, let's pick a name, Dumas. Joseph Dumas knows this, and he not only licenses these designs to Arrowhead, he puts ten metric tons of osmium and five hundred metric tons of gold on deposit in the bank in Switzerland. Fifty one thousand kilos of twenty four carat metal. Are those Swiss bankers going to give him a good rate on the colony account?" She smiled, "Is water wet?"

"You don't simply drop a rock on the teller window," Mr. Kent pointed out.

"No, you don't. That's where I make my money, by providing a market for those lonely Belters to sell their rocks to, and a place to buy food and air. I provide credit, based on core samples, I built the orbital smelters and the refinery, there's no reason I can't do the same thing at Windfall. Now, it will take a while to work through that one kilometer asteroid, which gives an income stream. However, I also mentioned that the existing government on the Island site was..."

"Corrupt," Ms. Lane said. "Greedy oligarchs."

"What makes this pitiful, Ms. Lane, is that those greedy old men have based their island's economy on iron. That's like basing it on sand, I buy asteroid iron at L4 for eight dollars a metric ton. I can import iron, shipping it across twelve hundred light years, and it would cost me about ten dollars a metric ton." She dug into her pocket, and threw a few disks on the table, "Those are Windfall coins."

"They're poker chips," Mr. Rivers said, examining one, than another. "Even Vegas chips have different designs and serial numbers." He looked at Mattie dubiously, "All these have are different, I assume those are numbers in the middle." He looked at the coins more closely, "These are hand painted! You could turn these out in a garage by the bushel."

Mattie nodded, "Yes, those are numbers, and the only security measures we know of are fluorescent." She leaned forward to pick up a coin, "This is a ten sandur coin. It has vertical and horizontal stripes, ten of each, in two different colors. There is an organ in a particular species of fish that can be treated to fluoresce, as well as a plant fiber. Shops will have a scanner, basically a desktop black light, where coins can be checked, but that doesn't work in the farmer's market, there's no electricity. The last time they caught a counterfeiter, that's where he was passing the coins. However, he was fined, his slaves were hung, as they did the work. A little double standard in the law, there."

"I'm surprised they still have a functioning economy," he replied.

"Their underground economy is based on barter, which avoids both counterfeiting and taxes, any large purchase is done through checks in the Ministry bank. Since the Ministry gets a handling fee, they don't object, but the overall economic growth is restricted."

Ms. Arroz was examining the coins, shaking her head. "How do the ordinary people do it? How do you buy groceries?"

"You have to set up accounts everywhere, and do periodic billing, and therefore write checks," Mattie replied. "Because the Ministry gets their handling fee, on every official transaction, they don't care. What it limits is the um... spontaneity of the economy. It's like ordering a fifteen dollar delivery pizza, instead of simply giving the guy a twenty when he comes and telling him to 'keep it', you write a check for fifteen dollars. That extra five dollars isn't going into his pocket, so he's not going to spend it and boost the economy."

"The Council must have people who know what to do," Ms. Arroz said. "Just using different tints in the clay, and different shapes would work."

"Unfortunately, the Council of Elders have been kings of their hill for so long, they don't see a need," Mattie said. "I'm sure they have people that are telling them that, but there's no reason they have to listen, especially when the head of their Finance ministry is also the head of government."

"Rather set in their ways, it seems," Ms. Arroz said. "Why your imperial, colonial approach?"

"I'm more than willing to sit down across a table and negotiate with the Council as equals," Mattie said, spreading her hands. "We've compared the original legal code with the current one, and while there are some things we object to in the original, we're basically good with it. However, the Council has the attitude of 'my way or else', and change the rules, the laws to suit themselves at the drop of a hat. This means that I can play their rigged game by their rules, where they have all the advantages, or I use the 'big stick' and gunboat diplomacy. That's the way the Council expects me to counter them, but we're throwing them a curve by striking a middle ground, investing in a wide array of businesses, buying land, and generally stirring up their economy."

"Why do that?" Mr. Rivers asked. "It's still economic colonialism."

"Political, social and economic influence," she replied. "There's also the intelligence factor. If we invest in a tailor's shop, that not only allows more rapid business growth for the tailor, it also allows us to influence things like workplace safety, which is non-existent. We also gain intelligence by those workers gossiping, political influence, and economic leverage."

She tented her fingers, "The average small business owner isn't dumb. They know how to read the signs, even if their government wants to ignore it. They know who can shake the money tree in their direction, even though, by law, a female can only own a very small business, like a hot dog cart." She propped her chin on her fingers, and was silent for a moment. "On one hand, we do nothing, and let a group of old, greedy men continue to rob their society blind while ignoring the responsibilities they don't like, and don't want to deal with. On the other, we can invest, we can influence at the grass roots that society to gain needed social change. I'm not going to stand the Council against a wall, or put in a dictatorship. However, we all know that money talks, especially in a corrupt society. Need I say anything about lobbyists and campaign contributions?"

"No, we've all written extensively about that," Mr. Kent said.

"Now, I do try to be ethical, and play by the rules," Mattie said. "In this case, the rule is the open hand. We could simply buy off their entire government, but that wouldn't help people. What we're doing instead is a lot of investing in businesses and R & D. I mentioned they were advanced in ceramics, one business is a boat builder, only we're trying a ceramic catamaran, instead of a fiberglass one. It's a good investment for us, builds up the local tech, as well as the local economy. Being an island, wood is scarce and expensive, and the island is metal-poor. One thing we want is a good set of nautical charts, because our people think several of the islands would make great vacation resorts, they've even drawn up sketches."

She took another sip of coffee. "Let's get back to our Governor Dumas. He's got a pretty penny in his account, but it's not all profit. He has to buy things for the settlers with it. For instance, they need a big bulldozer. Governor Dumas has to find the best price, arrange to have it broken down, shipped to Ecuador, loaded on a ship going his way, and hopefully they don't run into pirates." (She rapped the table's wood.)

"Once in Windfall orbit, it has to be shuttled down to the settlers, reassembled correctly and tested, then some of the settlers need to be trained on both using it and repairing it. Governor Dumas also needs to buy fuel and parts and have them shipped out. That bulldozer is going to put a good sized dent in that account. However, if all they plan to use it for is leveling roads and clearing land, wouldn't a steel scraper on a wooden frame, pulled by draft animals be a heck of a lot cheaper?"

She took another sip, "Also, the Governor has to open a local office to represent the settlers. He has to hire not only a colony factor to represent them, but also administrative staff, an attorney on retainer, and probably a marketing guy, none of whom are cheap. He's also got to pray that they don't run off to Vegas and gamble away the colony's funds, because he's going to be 1200 light years away. He has to get back to Windfall, again hopefully dodging pirates, because he needs to stomp out _those_ fires." She turned, "It's not all fun and games for our Governor or the settlers, and their survival is not guaranteed."

She cradled her coffee mug in her hands, "I apologize for the rather long-winded response. The settlers have to budget and spend wisely, just like anyone else. If their stock of seeds are contaminated, they need to replace it. If someone gets drunk and does target practice on their stud bull, they've got to replace it, and if they can't afford something else, too bad."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ms. Wayne, you seem to have an obsession about the issue of slavery in the galaxy," Ms. Arroz said. "What can you tell us about it, leaving out the ethics and moral issues, please. We obviously don't have common ground with other civilizations about that."

"Treading a minefield, aren't we?" Mattie replied, then took a deep breath. "All right. Being as objective as I can, most civilizations that I am aware of use slavery as part of their criminal code. Instead of doing what we do, which is locking a criminal up or some form of parole, they will use a judicial collar, the one with alternating yellow and green lights, on their convicts. On some planets, the state retains ownership and leases the convict, while others they're sold outright, like any other slave. On Windfall, there is a variant of this, the Council retains ownership, leasing the slave. However, the convict is sentenced to their, or I should say HER collar for a certain number of years. Now, as this is similar to the chain gangs, and the convict does retain some rights, including the right to handle money and possess items, as well as to appeal the lessee, it does have a slightly better odor. I'm not endorsing it, however, I would prefer the institution be abolished."

"I see what you say," Ms. Arroz replied. "You mentioned 'her collar'."

"The criminal code is biased," she replied. "Let me give an example. As you all know, I'm a runner, I enjoy marathons. If I go running with my brother on the Island site, and we both forget our breath masks, he's fined, I'm collared, a twenty-year sentence. In addition, my 'owner' (she finger-quoted) can give me various drugs to produce multiple births. One out of three male infants survive, most female infants do. So of the four children I produce, three are female, and are thus born slave, and the male is free. This is a law that was known as 'mother's sin', and it took them years to have the Council of Elders overturn it, because Elder Taaman, who holds the Justice Ministry, made too much money from selling the daughters of slaves as slaves."

"Sounds like a wonderfully corrupt place," Ms. Lane said.

"Oh, yes," Mattie said. "Another small example. I mentioned that this was a rich system, with an enormous asteroid belt you could almost reach out and touch. I mentioned the Island colony's Council has based their currency on iron, instead of something we might use, like gold. Their primary concern is to line their pockets, and they've been getting away with it. They have, as I think I mentioned, one decrepit light cruiser that is permanently docked to a small space station. They are trading asteroid iron, as the island they're on is metal-poor, for air and food to the miners and the station. They paid our people for maintenance on their one shuttle, the first it has had for seventy years, and they tried to cheat us then." She smiled tightly, "Try running your car for seventy years with no oil changes or maintenance, see what shape it's in."

She picked up one of the Windfall coins from the table, and said, "As I mentioned, they've developed out of necessity a rather advanced ceramics tech. They have things like ceramic engines and biofuels. That's one thing I want to trade with them, but they also have a backup database of galactic tech. The planet's primary manufacturing center was the Danube mountain site. That's several hundred kilometers away."

"So why are we even bothering with the Council on the Island site?" Ms. Lane asked.

"It's a known quantity," Mattie replied. "We know the tech data is there, one of our intelligence agents got the plans for an inertial compensator from one of their techs, she was able to build it. However, in order to use it, we have to deal with the Council of Elders. Our spies have been busy there, but they're not going to deal with the Council." She smiled slightly, "That's my job."

She turned slightly, "On the other hand, the Danube site is reported to have not only the original databases, but also manufacturing facilities. Unfortunately, we don't know what condition they're in, a lot of that site is in the foothills of a mountain range, tucked underground. An orbital survey shows things like dams and landing fields, so once the doctors have declared the area safe, we're dropping in survey teams and civil engineers, as well as infantry troops for protection. One way or another, we'll get that data, and hopefully we'll be able to plant some colonists there to produce it."

"How many colonists, and what kind of skills would they need?"

"Obviously farmers, and the reports of existing tech are roughly 1940s. We want to use technology that the colonists can reproduce, and draft animals and vacuum tubes were in use through the late sixties in the US. That means radios and television broadcasts from a satellite, it doesn't mean cell phones. We don't want to put them in a position where some vital bit of equipment requires a part shipped in from off-planet. If there is some absolutely vital equipment, like a mainframe, we want to make sure that the colonists can either manufacture it, or will have both redundancy and spare parts."

She swiveled a bit, "That's part of what's given us an opening at the Island site, their computer mainframe is breaking down, they don't have spare parts, and the Elder in charge isn't concerned. What those IT guys are doing is a back door trade with us, parts for data."

She leaned forward, picking up her coffee mug again, "We don't want to be put in the same position, so our colony wouldn't have that vulnerability. If that means a waterwheel and hydro power, that's fine, but that also means we standardize. We have reports of each individual homestead on the Island site has different voltages, so we can install something like three phase 240 AC for a homestead site, which lets us put in things like electric lights and radios. That means that your wagon can have a small radio set with a battery into it, and a rectifier lets you charge the battery off the wall plug. Building anything like an electric grid is far, far down the road, and besides, the towers are ugly."

"So we've got draft animals and vacuum tubes," Mr. Moss said, nodding his head.

"Precisely," Mattie said. "As I said, sustainable technology for our colonists, a turbine and generator is a lot easier to build and fix than a fusion reactor, and they both produce electricity."

Mr. Rivers asked, "That's good, but what about things like public health?"

"That's where the healers and our Governor come in," Mattie replied. "Drinking water can be made safe with things like sand filters. They're simple enough to build, just a tank of sand and gravel that water slowly seeps through. You then use the filtered water for cooking and drinking, both for your colonists and their livestock, and we're using a design from the World Health Organization." She swiveled a bit, "For the general public, a vendor at the colony market would need a license to sell their produce, they would need to display it, and it doesn't matter if they're selling chicken, fish, or beans. If you want to buy someplace else, that's your responsibility."

"So how does our average citizen fit into this?" Ms. Arroz asked.

"The average citizen needs to have a skill that is useful to the colony," Mattie replied. "They would also need to be willing to go through some tough times and take in apprentices. You would need people that don't mind getting dirty, and who don't need a cell phone to live." There was a chuckle, and she continued, "About the only requirement I would put down for settlers would be bilingual in both English and Trade. A settler can either use an implant for Trade, or we can teach it, like people learn Japanese or Russian, in a classroom. With a vacuum tube radio, you can get news, music and weather reports, you have communications between different homesteads and the main sites."

"What kind of settlers would be required?"

Mattie grinned, "Look in the phone book. Everyone from attorneys and blacksmiths, carpenters and craftspeople, all kinds of farmers, fishermen and teachers, machinists and masons, potters and weavers, as well as their families; children, and they would need to take apprentices." She swiveled in her chair, "We're building a small town of a few thousand people. It's not all the people working in the factories, doing the manufacturing, but all the others in a town, and we can't forget the artists and musicians as well."

"Apprentices?" Mr. Moss asked.

"One reason to have apprentices is so that you can have people that can go on the road for deliveries and house calls. Blacksmiths and farriers for those draft animals to farmers taking produce to market; masons and electricians and machinists to doctors, veterinarians and dentists. A homestead might be the base for a traveling healer, who might be on the road ten days out of thirty, and who might serve as all three: doctor, dentist, and vet."

Ms. Arroz asked, "You mentioned a market. What can you tell us about that?"

"This isn't planned, but I think it would be a logical development," Mattie replied. "The settlement would designate a certain market area or bazaar. Maybe the town square becomes the market one day a week." She shrugged, "There might be some form of overhead cover, there would probably be electricity available. If I were to design it, I'd have two major sections where people can lease a stall, a 'produce' section for local farmers, and a 'services' section, for people like blacksmiths and cabinet makers."

She gestured, "The Governor, as part of his or her duties, would have a staff for weights and measures, so the consumers know the scales are accurate. The public health people would also license the farmer, so I know the chicken I buy is disease free." She swiveled in her chair, "In a bazaar, it's subdivided, so there's good competition, if I want to buy a kilo of beans, I can compare prices side by side, and I can see the little inspection sticker on the farmer's scale, so I know I'm getting an honest kilo."

"Now we've all been to farmer's markets, food isn't the only thing there. Clothing, textiles, furniture, whatever I might need including services are available. While I'm there, I can look at the displays, and if I like what I see, I can make arrangements with the shop owner or their apprentice. For instance, taxes might be coming due soon, so I would also stop by the accountant's booth and arrange to have her check my books."

Mr. Rivers said, "That certainly seems reasonable, but why not more advanced technology?"

"The idea goes back to the balance of payments for the colony, and for the individual businesses. At first, the colony is going to operate in the red, their imports are going to outweigh their exports. If the farmer's cat piddles on the accountant's laptop, it's going to be more expensive to replace than something like a pocket calculator." She grinned, "It's like buying something set up for the British electrical system in Phoenix. Yes, it's possible, but it has different plugs and voltages, so it has to be special ordered and shipped in, so it's going to cost more. A pocket calculator, on the other hand, uses a pair of AA batteries, which you can buy anywhere. So on my computer back at the farm, I'm going to burn the data files for my books to a CD, and make arrangements to get it to the accountant, probably dropping it off at next week's market."

"So when the accountant needs to visit, she gets in her car..."

"I don't think she'd use a car," Mattie said. "I would think she'd live in town, probably over her shop with her family and any apprentices. Most small towns would be fairly compact, so she could walk to anyone in town, like the butcher's shop."

"However, she may need to go visit my farm, so she needs to rent a vehicle. She walks three blocks to a livery stable and rents a buggy, or has one delivered by the stable's apprentice." She swiveled in her chair. "Why not a car, even an off-road one like a jeep, you ask. Let's say that car needs a part, an oil pan. By the way, I'm including things like fluids as parts. The roads are rough, it's possible. Now when that jeep was damaged, it leaked oil on the road, which is a pollutant, and now has to be cleaned up and replaced, but that oil pan has to be shipped twelve hundred light years."

"The local machinist or blacksmith couldn't weld a patch to that oil pan?" Ms. Arroz asked.

"Okay, bad example," Mattie admitted. "What I'm getting at is not only cleaning up that oil spill, but for the average settler, day-to-day life will probably not require sophisticated technology." She gestured, "When you write a story, you type it up and email it back to your paper. In the settlement, as one of the reporters for, say, a weekly paper or radio show, you might type it into a terminal to the newspaper's server, or on a typewriter." (The reporters shuddered.)

She grinned, "Email and that infrastructure might not exist, so you drop back to a more manual method, but you're still reporting the news. Parts for a laptop computer would need to be imported, as opposed to a terminal connected to the colony's mainframe. A vacuum tube can be made by that machinist to fix a radio, instead of importing a microchip to fix a circuit board. Getting back to transportation, while there may be a fire truck, the engine and transmission as well as the pumps would need to be simple enough to be locally repairable, as well as locally fueled. The farmer who needs to get his produce to market is not going to be that far away, maybe twenty miles or so. Ice chests on a wagon works just fine, even here. Look at how much ice a convenience store sells."

"Now, if our accountant's rented buggy throws a wheel, it can be repaired locally. The parts are locally fabricated, so the cost is less. She has a radio in the buggy, she calls in to the stable she rented it from, they make arrangements to get her going again. It's all locally sustainable technology, it does the job."

"A buggy or wagon also implies draft animals," Ms. Arroz said. "What kind of draft animals are there?"

She replied, "There are reports of two species of draft animal," she replied. "One is a fairly large, slow one known as a shonnen. Six legs, about five or six thousand pounds, like a large ox. The settlement might use a team of those with a scraper blade to level roads instead of shipping in that bulldozer."

"The other is something called a hexataur, they look like a centaur, with a horse's head, and are about five feet, or fifteen hands, at the withers. They seem to be opportunistic omnivores, so they'll eat a rat if they can catch it, otherwise they graze." She swiveled in her chair again, "I would think the shonnen would be used for plowing fields and anything where we would need a lot of power. On the other hand, a hexataur would be used like a light horse, for pulling buggies or light wagons, like a mail cart." She shrugged, "I don't know where either of them might be used in manufacturing, I would presume delivery services, but we can find out."

Mr. Kent said, "Thank you, Ms. Wayne, and let's go to some of the questions our viewers have sent us." A graphic flashed on the screen as he read, "Jared writes, 'Six legs? Woah!'"

"Six legs, or limbs, is fairly common, Jared," Mattie replied. "We've had people here, a recent one I saw in the Eunomia base was a meter high panther, four meters or so long, with an opposable thumb in her tail, her fur changed color with her mood." She swiveled, "The humanoid form is one, but not the only dominant form of intelligence in the galaxy. There are energy beings, group minds whose individuals look like cockroaches, dolphins, and I think everyone remembers the Wookies you saw last year on TV."

Mr. Kent nodded, "Jen in New York writes, "I'm a criminal attorney. What kind of legal code would be in place?" He added, "Excellent question."

"It is," Mattie replied. "When you travel, you're subject to local law, our problem here is the initial law for this settlement, this colony. For instance, you have civil law for things like consumer protection, weights and measures, and building codes. You also have criminal law, which defines the crimes and appropriate punishments."

She swiveled again in her seat, "Jen, the difficulty is which set of statutes apply. For instance, the original planetary law for Windfall was presumably copied from their homeworld, and subsequently modified for the Island site by the Council of Elders. In that modification, only males can hold real property over a certain monetary value, and they are the only ones that have a vote. In that criminal law, a male is usually fined, or for more serious crimes like murder, executed. They have gallows by the side of the road, at rest stops, so people can see and learn about their crime. A female would also hang for murder, but for other crimes is enslaved, the reason is to increase the birth rate, and the population." She snorted, "They have an interesting touch, the victim of a murder is placed in a glass-topped coffin below the gallows."

"On the other hand, we have in each of our local colonies a Governor, like our hypothetical Joseph Dumas. He is appointed initially, one of the benchmarks I've mentioned is his election by the local board, who each are elected and serve a fixed term. The colony provides for both prosecution and defense, and they trade off, so an attorney might prosecute one case and defend another before the board. For a high crime like murder, the Governor can accept the existing judge and jury's decision to execute and sign the death warrant, order another trial as an appeal, or commute the sentence to exile. He's the only one with High Justice, and like I've said, that's rather limited. Fortunately, we haven't had a High Justice case yet, although we have had a banishment back to Earth for a violent drunk."

Mattie leaned forward, "A colony can't really afford to lock up a criminal and let them rot. They need to give a fair trial, allow an appeal, and be done with it. For a Low Justice crime like robbery or battery, the case is heard before the board, but as I said, these are cases in the Terran system."

"How do we handle this hypothetical colony on Windfall? Which set of laws, or combination, gets put in place? How are they written, enacted, modified, and deleted? What about the vote? In the orbital colonies, you need to pass a citizenship test and be fifteen before you can vote. Is there a gender, or other form of bias?" She turned, "Jen, you said you're a criminal attorney. You know there are imbalances in the law, both civil and criminal. What procedures do we, as common citizens have to change the law?" She shrugged, "We haven't had to deal with too much crime on the stations, they still have small populations. Is stealing an apple from the market worth the gallows? Is it worth a collar, and for how long?" She shook her head, "It is an excellent question, and I would remind people that smiths and farmers aren't the only settlers we need. I would also remind the attorneys that we don't need laws written in fifty-dollar words."

Mr. Kent turned in his chair, "Marie in Wichita writes, 'How do I get to this colony? I'm a college student."

"Marie, it depends on what your degree is in," Mattie replied. "First of all, as I said, we are not accepting applications at this time for Windfall. We need to make sure it's safe, first. After that, you may need to sign on as an apprentice with someone. That would be a contract, but look into some of the skills and trades that Terran colonies used, and see how you fit. If you're a mechanical engineer, you might contract with a blacksmith, possibly as a machinist. If you're an electrical engineer, you might develop the radios and do the wiring for generators and pumps and windmills. If you have tools and equipment, you may be able to take out a mortgage on a homestead and set up your own shop." She turned, "Marie, I would suggest you keep an eye on Arrowhead's web site, but opening up a planet for settlement would be in the news."

"It certainly would," Mr. Kent said. "We're almost out of time, so our last question is: 'What's your bitch with slavery, it's cool,' written by a 'Master Bill' in Phoenix."

"Well, '_Bill_'," Mattie started, "This isn't some sexual game, this is ownership of another person. You literally own that person, like you own a dog. You buy and sell, and modify, and you can kill that person, and they have no options, and there's no penalty. They're property, walking, talking, intelligent property, and if you decide that you're bored with them, you can sell them, or kill them, and nobody's going to say anything, because that slave isn't a person. She's a slave, an animal, quite possibly a bred animal, like you would buy a particular breed of dog or cat."

She turned to face the cameras, "On one of my trips, we went into a weapons shop, and they had a firing range. Instead of paper targets, they had live targets. Cheap slaves, who were bought to be shot to pieces by the customers. I have video of one young fellow, late teens or early twenties, who was on the range, dismembering his target slave, carefully, methodically, one finger joint at a time, and he wasn't unusual."

She was silent, "That video makes me puke. I can still smell that place, the coppery scent of blood, the tears on the slaves, about ten years old, as they were led in, and locked into place on a target. They were _people_, Bill, maybe fifteen feet away, and they were slaves. They were disposable, I wanted to kill the owner of that hell hole, but what I did is bought that slave on that firing line. I couldn't buy them all, when they brought her out to me, the shop slaves were tossing bloody bits of their sisters into a cart. An arm here, a foot there. That girl, that slave that I bought, is now in one of our resettlement villages, where she's in the process of being adopted." She leaned forward, "Now, _Bill_, if that's good for you, then I'm going to call you one sick, amoral bastard, and I don't give a damn that we're on network television. I spent a few hundred grams of tungsten to save a young girl's life, to buy a person. Fuck you, Bill."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I want that email," Mattie said in the green room as her fingers stabbed into the cold cream. She removed her makeup savagely, while Arthur stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders.

"I can't give it to you," Clark said as he removed his own.

"This 'Bill' bloke needs looking into," Crystal said, and Clark nodded. "I agree, but you can't do it. It will be handled, my word on it."

"Okay," Mattie replied. "It might be interesting to have Diana pay him a visit," and Arthur chuckled, "You are pissed, aren't you? Will there be trouble for her cussing on network TV?"

Clark replied, "There's a seven second delay for that reason. Can I see that video you mentioned?"

Arthur looked up, "It's sickening, I've seen it. It's so... routine."

Mattie looked up, "Where's my laptop? I can copy it to you, but I'm asking you to keep it private."

"In the family," Lois said as she took her husband's place. "That's _my_ word."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, Ms. Wayne," Mr. Moss said as he walked by. "You were... exaggerating when you mentioned that video?"

"Oh, no," she replied as she stood, from where she had been leaning against the wall. "I've got a copy on my laptop, the only thing I'd ask you to do is keep the identities secret." She nodded at the door to the green room, "Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane are watching it now. If you want to see it, bring a bucket."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh. My. God," Ms. Arroz said as she opened the door to the green room where she had seen the video with the other journalists. "That's worse than I've seen in East LA. Where is that?"

"It's a tourist trap station around a contact binary, about eight hundred light years away," Mattie said as she entered. "We recorded that in a visit in late December," she added as Arthur and Crystal came in behind her.

Mr. Howard said, "Please tell me it's a fake. I can't believe anyone could do that. The kid, the shooter, he looked like my older son, and the girl, his target, like my youngest daughter." He held the plastic wastebasket again, pressing his stomach.

"I wish it was a fake," Arthur said. "The other woman is the astronomy instructor at Hogwarts, and the girl is who she's been trying to adopt." He gave a little snort, "Please respect their privacy, but the other fellow that you saw..."

"Standing port watch, that's my Uncle Eddie from Gotham," and Mr. Rivers said, "Oh, god, these are your relatives, your friends?" He looked over at Arthur, "Mr. Morton, isn't it? You've seen this?"

"My first trip out will be next week, when we leave for Eridani III," he said. "I'm not looking forward to it, but then again, it's something I have to do. We go from there to Windfall, where we play politics and economics, and some troops from the ship check out the other two sites."

"An interesting report on 'How I spent my summer vacation,' Mr. Rivers said.

"Actually, that homework is getting a couple of different plants," Mattie said, and jerked her head at Arthur, "This bum doesn't have to."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I need a drink after seeing that," Crystal admitted as they walked away from the building. "It turns my stomach." She looked up at the screech of tires coming toward them, someone in a van pointing a long tube. Arthur shouted "GRENADE!" as someone called, "Wayne! This is from Marone!" and a grey cone flew toward them as the van exploded. She spun, reaching for him as Crystal leaped toward it, transforming on the fly.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Wayne," Detective Inspector Maggie Sawyer said, and she looked up. "I want to know what happened. I don't like people firing rockets in my streets."

"They were aiming at us," she replied, and Arthur said, "I heard something about 'Marone'."

"Your girlfriend has a price on her head," Sawyer said, sitting down in the small hospital waiting room. "Seven million by herself, or ten million with Benni Castellano. Where is she, by the way?"

"Tucked away in orbit around one of the four hundred billion stars in this galaxy," Mattie replied, sitting back and pulling the ice pack from her head. "Even if I told you which one, you'd need the stellar co-ordinates and transport. What about the shooters?"

"Stolen van, the back blast incinerated them," Sawyer replied. "They were stupid, and you're lucky, whoever cast that spell limited the damage, and your bodyguard took most of the blast."

"How is she?" Mattie asked. "They won't tell us or let us see her."

"Alive. I thought they'd be shipping her home in a small box with a sponge, but werewolves are apparently tougher than they look. The docs are still shaking their heads, but it looks like she'll pull through. She'll be here for a few months, though."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 3, 2002:  
New York City, Central Park: 14:42 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Connie Koslowski waved, and the Cortez twins nodded. They lay out on a beach towel, soaking up the sun. Connie put down her cooler and a small radio, and was spreading out her own towel when the radio said:

_'__Breaking News: Metropolis__. Assassination attempt on the Queen of Space, Mattie Wayne. Two reported dead, more as we have it.' _

All three looked at each other, then Connie dug out her phone and told it, "Wayne, Helena". She waited a second, looking at each other, then Connie said, "Busy, no wonder. I... Hey, Mattie, it's Connie. I just heard about the attempt, what can you tell me?" She nodded, "Oh, okay. I'll tell my mom that. The Cortez twins are here in Central Park with me. Okay... okay... Yeah, that would go over well. Right, okay, bye." She looked up, "Metropolis PD doesn't want her to say anything more than she and Arthur are ok, bumps and bruises. They'll release a statement later."

"What would go over well?" Shaundra asked.

"Professor Hagrid wanted to know if she wanted Fluffy to keep her company, he's 'lonely' while the professors are in class." Connie rolled her eyes as Roshawn snorted. "I gotta call my mom..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So who is 'Fluffy'?" Detective Sawyer asked as she hung up. Mattie went to another call as Arthur replied, "The Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts is a half-giant, and he likes what he refers to as 'interesting' creatures. Hippogriffs, dragons, unicorns... anyway, Fluffy is a hellhound he got from some guy in a bar, he has three heads and is about fifteen feet high at the shoulder."

"That would indeed be interesting," she replied as Mattie said, "I don't know, I'll ask." She looked up, waving the cell phone, "Press conference? Aunt Lois wants to know."

"Lois Lane?" Mattie nodded, and Detective Sawyer said, "I don't know. You two can duck out of it if you want, citing medical reasons."

Mattie shook her head, "Not unless it's legit. They need to see us, both of us, alive and well. We'll defer the questions to you, though." She waved the ice pack, "This doesn't count."

"Six o'clock, any changes we'll let her know," and Mattie nodded. "Aunt Lois?"

"Your first press conference?" Maggie asked Arthur, and he nodded sourly. "I hate them too, but you'd better get used to them, you won't be able to duck them all." She snorted, "Morton, you look like a decent kid. Couple of tricks, take a nap, then put some ice on your face before you go into makeup."

"Makeup?" he shuddered.

"It's not much, and you'll need it, you'll look like a malnourished ghost under the lights otherwise," Mattie said, putting down the cell phone. "I'll catch what questions I can, but this is primarily to show us as alive and healthy, it's the Detective's show. We'll get the hospital to change the bandage on your head before we air, we don't want it bloody. Remember, no matter what, keep your cool. Get one of the ice packs and keep it in your hands to remind you, keep it cool."

Her phone rang, and she looked at it, her eyebrows raising, "Yes, ma'am? No, Arthur and I are both okay, bumps and bruises. Our SO-1 bodyguard took most of the blast. No, she's a werewolf, so she'll be okay, but in the hospital for a while." She made writing motions, and Maggie Sawyer passed over her notepad. On a blank page, she wrote _THE QUEEN__ !!!_ She continued, "I don't know, ma'am, Detective Inspector Sawyer is sitting next to me, she's from the Metropolis Police. Yes, ma'am," and handed the phone over.

"Yes, ma'am," Maggie said, "Right now it's scheduled for six pm local, that's eleven London... Err, sorry. Yes, ma'am, I'll be happy to keep them in the loop. Yes, ma'am, I surely will. Yes, ma'am, here he is," and she handed the phone to Arthur.

He took it gingerly, "Hello, ma'am?" He listened, nodding occasionally, then said, "Yes, ma'am, I certainly will. Were you briefed in by Lady Sarah on the Sisal project?" He nodded, "Yes, ma'am, but not in FTL, so there would be a lag of several days, as I understand it. It's... (he craned to look), two fifty-one by the clock here. Yes, ma'am. Would my parents be all right? Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am, I should be back there tomorrow sometime, we were going to bunk here with Mattie's aunt and uncle overnight." He grabbed the pen, scribbling down a phone number and an email that ended '.uk'. He tore the sheet off and the two under it that had visible impressions. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you and goodbye." He thumbed the kill switch, pushing the phone back across the desk at Mattie as he sat back in the chair, head back and eyes closed. "The Queen wants me to send her a daily report by email on our trip," he told the ceiling. "She's going to courier an encryption CD to me from the Chicago consulate."

"What is the Sisal project?" Detective Sawyer asked, and Mattie shook her head, "Sorry, need to know." Her phone rang, and she picked it up, switching to Spanish, "(Hello, Uncle Fidel! No, we're fine, just bumps and bruises. No, there will be a press conference about six eastern, the Metropolis PD will tell us what they know. No, Detective Sawyer is here with Arthur and I, I don't know if she speaks Spanish.)" She put her phone down, switching back to English and waving the phone, "Uncle Fidel in Havana. Do you speak Spanish, or should he use English?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 3, 2002:  
Metropolis, 1938 Sullivan Lane, #3D: 19:46 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Be it ever so humble," Lois said, unlocking the door to their apartment. "Come on in and set a spell..."

"You, my dear, claim _I'm_ full of corn?" Clark asked.

"Hey, who's from Kansas?" she asked, kicking off her shoes. She wiggled her stockinged feet, then waved them to the couch as Mattie extracted their luggage from her bag, enlarging it and removing the featherweight charms. Lois picked up the portable phone, tossing it to Arthur, "Phone home, ET."

"Who's hungry?" Clark asked, and Lois flopped on the couch, waving both arms. "Eating for two, here! Is spaghetti all right?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, Teela!" Arthur said into the phone. "No, I'm safe here with Mattie's Aunt Lois and Uncle Clark. Sure, it's, um... (he read off the number), or you could call Mattie's cell. I'm expecting a delivery from the British Consulate. No, I'll talk about it tomorrow when I get there, about, um..."

"Whenever you want, Arthur," Clark said from the kitchen. "Noon," he told his sister. "Lois and Clark want to give me some pointers on press conferences, I screwed up this one."

"You didn't do too badly for your first one," Lois said from where she was setting the table. "You'll get better. We'll practice."

"I remember my first one," Mattie said as she emerged from the bedroom, barefoot and in shorts. "What can I do to help?"

"Tell me how it tastes," Clark asked, as Lois' cell rang. "Hi, Selina! No, Arthur's on the house line calling home. No, she's fine, Clark's teaching her his secret spaghetti sauce. Yeah, here she is..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Tuesday, June 4, 2002:  
Metropolis, 1938 Sullivan Lane, #3D: 05:53 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good morning, Arthur," Clark said as he stood before the bathroom mirror, a white towel around his waist. Arthur leaned in the partially open doorway and watched as Mr. Kent cupped a small metal disk in his right hand, pulled at his cheek with his left, and gazed into the disk. A thin tendril of smoke arose from his cheek, and he slowly moved his hand. "This is the slowest part of my morning," he confessed.

"I always did wonder how you shaved," Arthur said.

"I have to split my attention between the disk, which is Kryptonian hull metal, and the mirror." He tilted his chin up, and a wisp of smoke came from his nostril. "Nose hair that's been tickling," he said, picking up a washcloth, wetting it, then rubbing his face. He took a bit of lotion in his hand, put it on his face, then washed his hands and stepped back. "All yours, son."

"Thanks." Arthur unzipped his travel kit, "That lotion doesn't absorb, does it?"

"No, but Lois' sister Lucy got it for me, and I like the smell." He slotted the small disk into its place in the wall cabinet, mopped his hands with the damp washcloth, then said, "I'll leave you be, the ladies should be getting breakfast."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Clark is actually a better cook than I am," Lois confessed as she cracked eggs. "Farm upbringing, slopping the chickens and milking the hogs and all that." Mattie chuckled, taking a drink of her coffee as she sliced onions for breakfast while the hash browns simmered. "And of course, some of our guests have very specific diet requirements. I mean, Arthur Curry will just _not_ eat any seafood, and J'onn is all cold food, nothing heated." She added a dash of milk and some spices to the eggs, commenting, "Very precise cuts, there."

"First year potions," Mattie replied. "The shape of the ingredients will sometimes affect the outcome of the potion, or the surface area. That's why when Professor Snape says 'cube the ingredients into three millimeter sections', he means cubes three millimeters on a face. Not four, and not two. When Julie and Bill started Hogwarts, we suggested they get measuring scales, and by second year, your eye is pretty calibrated." She dumped the onions in with the hash browns and gave them a quick stir, then took a slice of ham, eyed it, "That looks like about two millimeters thick," and started to cut, whistling something. "What gets me sometimes is converting between older measurements and metric. Stones to kilograms. I can't do it in my head like Arthur can," she commented as Lois started to beat the eggs with a fork.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Now, we both took a personal day," Lois said as Clark gathered the breakfast dishes. Another pot of coffee gurgled as Arthur sipped his tea, and Lois continued, "Arthur, as I said, you did all right for your first news conference, but you don't reveal personal information like 'my sister Elena', and Mattie, you need to develop a thicker skin, especially on that slavery issue."

"I've been wondering why you're so passionate about it," Clark said as he scrubbed the plates.

"When I was in the 14th century, I was kidnapped by a court wizard, who put a tapping collar on me, to drain my magic, and he branded me," she replied reluctantly. "I fought a wizard's duel with him, and defeated him because he didn't know what a machine gun was." She took a last slug of coffee, then rose to refill it, "I still have the brand," and turned to pull up her shorts on the left. "Wizarding clothing is painful to wear, it's a cursed brand, but I keep it as a reminder."

"Like you'd suddenly forget if you got it removed," Arthur mumbled.

Lois glanced at him, "Which explains the passion. You killed him in the duel?"

"No, I couldn't, I had to protect the timeline. I had to frighten the crap out of him, he was one of Professor Harry's ancestors. Every time I have DADA class, I have to remind myself that he's not his ancestor, because he looks like the other guy, and is about the same age." She poured coffee for Lois and herself (Clark shaking his head), "What have you found out about our slaver Bill?"

"This is _not_ your concern," Clark said. "I want your word, and yours too, Arthur. We will investigate and go from there." Mattie reluctantly nodded, as did Arthur, and Clark said, "He's not in Phoenix, the IP address on the email is from downstate New York, specifically Poughkeepsie. I'm going to fly over it after I drop you off, Arthur, and if I feel it warranted, I'll ask the FBI to look into it. It could be someone who just wanted to yank your chain, and they succeeded." He looked over his glasses at his niece, "The First Amendment says 'Freedom of Speech', and that includes the right to be an idiot. No matter how much you may want to pound on him, we let the process work. Is that clear?"

"Yes," she ground out, and Arthur nodded, "Yes, sir."

"Good," he said, and took a last swallow of his coffee. Refilling his mug, he started a fresh pot, "Arthur, how's your tea?" He took a look, and stood to get a refill as Clark said, "Now, you two are linked in the public mind, which means you're going to need to develop a code between you. All couples do."

"For instance, if we're at a party, and I mention the word 'Springback' in a sentence to Clark, it means I want to leave," Lois said. "The degree of urgency is determined by an altitude word, 'Valley' means 'soon', 'Heights' is within the next five minutes."

"Bruce, may he rest in peace, said he did more business on the golf course than at a conference table," Clark said, straddling the end chair. He set his mug down, "He was proud of his lousy swing, even though the last time we played as a foursome, he was an excellent golfer. His actual handicap was two or three, as I recall, he just added ten or fifteen strokes. Now you two are young, and just starting out playing golf, which gives you an excuse."

"My dad mentioned this," Arthur said. "He also suggested I learn how to drink."

"Pareek't juice," Clark nodded. "Larry Ullage mentioned it in his article, I've got a bottle I'll give you." Lois leaned over and gently rapped Mattie's knuckles with a butter knife, "How dare you let him get a beat on me and the _Planet_?" she asked.

"Hey, you weren't there!" she replied, rapping back with her own butter knife. "I want to pick up a bottle for him." Clark reached over and held down both warring butter knives, "As I was about to say, Arthur, I agree with your father. You need to learn when to lose gracefully in pursuit of a higher goal, as well as how to drink, and how to fake it." There was a pause, and a small glass with about a quarter-inch of reddish fluid was sitting in front of Arthur. "That's Juice," Clark said. "Just for you to taste, the equivalent is about like an inch of whiskey."

"Import market," Lois said, as Arthur carefully sipped it, then put it down. "I see why you got blotto, it does taste good," he told Mattie. He took another sip, rolling it around in his mouth. "Will I get drunk?"

"Not while you're digesting," Clark said. "I'm going to fly you home, while Mattie and Lois go off. In any case, this applies to both golf, and to a lesser extent, tennis. You need to agree beforehand if you're going to..." He looked up, "Excuse me," and vanished, the newspapers and people's hair blowing.

"Superman problem," Lois said. "I was going to say 'Cheat', but he's such a boy scout. In talking to Professor Snape and the others, you learn to use the back doors in Slytherin, to stack the odds in your favor." She grinned at her niece, "Could you use an embedded journalist with your little trip? I'd love to get hold of the oligarchy."

"Sorry, they'd drop you off a pier. However, it is a very nice planet..." With a breeze, Clark returned, and Mattie finished, "...there's the possibility of a vacation resort."

Lois raised an eyebrow, and Clark said, "Apartment fire in Bangkok."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Fairly good intelligence," Lois said, and Mattie nodded. "We don't have professional spies there, we do have a lot of sneaky people like my Uncle Eddie, he really hated Daala."

"Minister of Finance and the Grand Councilor," Lois confirmed, checking her notes.

"That's right," her niece confirmed. "Now, since the economy there is based on iron, it's simple to go out, mine a few tons of asteroid iron, and deposit it in the bank. We then use that to speculate on land, do some investing, generate some churn, and buy partial ownership of different companies." She grinned, "They had a nice, stable, boring market, we're stirring things up."

"What kind of companies?" Clark asked.

"Primarily those in transportation and communications. We've invested heavily in ceramic engines, so we have a three-wheeled motorcycle as well as larger engines, we're using it for same-day and next-day delivery services. We also have an R & D center for things like ceramic and fiberglass boat hulls, we're paying farmers to grow certain crops for biofuels, and a couple of fish farms, which cover mines. We're also very generous in doing 'angel' investing of small businesses, and offering very good terms for both microfinance and venture capital." She sat back, cradling her coffee mug, "We have more capital available, we have a nice shark as our on-planet boss. The only major difficulty there is that she's female, and is thus not legally permitted to own a business. We're working around that with one of our captains, but he's not a trained economist."

"Ah-hah!" Arthur said. "That's why the Gringotts goblin connection."

"Yep," Mattie said. "Their law says the owner of a business must be male, that's it. Doesn't refer to species or citizenship or planet of birth or legal status, so theoretically we could put a male slave in there. He probably wouldn't be very effective, though, just because he was a slave."

"Hmm," Lois said. "Creeping tentacles..."

Mattie nodded, "Daala is trying to counter this, but he doesn't have the capital we do, and he's simply been pocketing the cash for so long, he doesn't really know how to _invest_. He's simply throwing some extra money at his own businesses, which might help short-term, but not in the long term. He's also been trying to block various ongoing projects of ours by withholding permits or supplies while requiring payment." She sing-songed, "Oh, we've got lawyers, so many lawyers..." and then grinned, "Which, of course, generates its own little economic boost. Think of a depressed small town trying to block a company like IBM that wants to build a plant. While there's an official weekly island newspaper, it's a fish-wrapper. The more accurate source of news is the network of gossiping slave girls, and the Council tried to block that by increasing the license fee to remove their gags."

"Which you countered some way, I'm sure," Clark said, sitting back and cradling his own cup of coffee. He regarded his niece, "Microlending for the license?"

"Probably," she replied. "That happened just before Uncle Eddie left in December. In any case, the population is literate in a form of sign language, and we sent a ship to install a Sisal transceiver."

"Which is?"

"A secret. Need to know," Arthur said.

"Still, they're blood, they're family," Mattie said. "Very, very secret. Hush-hush. We're still deploying this, understood?"

"Cross my heart," Lois said, and did so, then throwing away the imaginary key. Clark nodded, "Of course."

"Quantum resonance communication," his niece said simply, and Clark reared back slightly, "You got it to work?"

"To maintain the connection in FTL, yes, and we own all the rights." Lois raised her eyebrow as her niece grinned evilly. Arthur explained, "Essentially, email at interstellar distances." Lois regarded them, and Arthur said, "As opposed to sending a letter, which might take weeks or months to get there, this is instantaneous."

"However, the unit isn't installed yet," Mattie said. "Right now the transmission speed is about three hundred baud, so there's text e-mail, but we don't have the bandwidth for something like video. The ship we sent is on the right planet, but there were problems, and they're in quarantine."

"Ah..." Lois said, sitting back and regarding the younger couple, sipping her coffee, "Pool reporting?"

Arthur regarded the older couple over his own teacup, "You'd have to be muggle. Superman isn't there, and like Mattie said, the Elders are likely to drop anyone they don't like off a pier. We'll have some infantry there, but there's still a risk, Ms. Lane. I don't think they'd take too kindly to your usual style."

"You always have been rather aggressive, dear," Clark said. Lois raised her eyebrow, "I can't do puff pieces as well as you can. If we go, Superman should be seen here on Earth." She took a sip from her own coffee cup, "There are too many possibilities there to ignore things."

"Pre-cisely," Mattie said. "Not only military, but financial and trade nodes, warehousing, shipbuilding and repair. I'm not going to have it stopped by greedy old men who can't see beyond their own grasping hands, so I'm going to do some..." She grinned at her aunt, "...exploiting."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Tuesday, June 4, 2002:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle: 12:00 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Teela looked up from the backyard bench as Arthur walked up the drive, "Hey, you okay? How'd you get here?"

Arthur ignored the question, "I flew in, and I'm fine, just a minor cut and the ringing in my ears has gone away." he sat next to his sister, "What's going on?"

"Not much," she said, and grinned at him. She stuck her colored pencil behind her ear, shoving her omnipresent sketchpad to the side, and gestured to a fellow that was standing to the side, patiently waiting, "This fellow's from the British embassy, he got here just before you did."

"Consulate, actually," he said. "Sir George Lloyd, at your service. Mr. Morton, I presume?" Arthur nodded, "Might I have a word in private?" They moved over into the grass, where Arthur cast a privacy spell, and Teela eyed the driver. After a few minutes, Arthur dropped the spell, Sir Lloyd got into his car, and drove off.

Teela turned to her brother as he took his seat again, asking, "So what's the deal with you and the Queen? I mean the British one, not Mattie. Did you know she has a blog?"

"The Queen, or Mattie?"

"I should say both, but I know Mattie does. Julie emailed me the link, Mr. Paranoid." She waggled her eyebrows, "The Queen?"

"She wants a daily report on our trip, the disk is an encryption package," Arthur said, tapping the manila envelope. "Mattie has a blog? I'm surprised she has the time."

"She doesn't update it every day, but emailing the Queen? Cool. You've met her?"

Arthur snorted. "Oh, yeah, at the Halloween ball. She's a very nice older lady, a bit older than Mom, and she gets along like a house on fire with Mattie. Danced with her a couple times, too. Thank god I took dancing lessons so I didn't look like a total dork."

"Good," Teela nodded in approval, then flipped her sketchbook closed and cased her pencil. "Your sisters have taught you well, though you are a relatively hopeless male, young Padawan Morton."

"Bugger off," he replied with a grin.

"I thought you didn't believe in cell phones," she replied.

"This one is..." he hesitated, "... a special case."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oy there," Bill said, then looked at his older brother, "I am talking like a Brit."

"It's contagious," Arthur said. "I just told Teela to 'Bugger off.' Where's Mattie's blog?"

"Here, called 'Queen of Space'. She hasn't updated today, but she did yesterday." He got up, pushing his laptop over. Arthur started at the beginning of the month, noting that several months were archived, and read the posts and the comments from the first of June.

_**  
1 June 2002 **_

_Well, we start a new month today, bright and shiny. We graduate our first class of middies for the Guard from Corfu. It's a beautiful island, and my motel room (what, you thought I stayed in the penthouse?) It's a second-floor (or for the Brits reading this, first floor) room for three and Carson. He's a sweet kid, really, and he's tickling my maternal instincts. _

_Corfu. Greek island, looks kinda like a backwards '7'. The Greeks turned over one of their old military bases to us in the middle of the island, part of their contribution to the Guard. We're already discussing expansion, this first class taught us a lot. It's kinda weird to give and take salutes, though. _

_Letters, I got letters! Well, not really, comments. Close enuf. _

**Comments: **

_SunflowerAZ, hey there! I'd like to come out there, but right now my schedule is booked so tight, and I've got to go off-planet soon. Y'know, if we can get this problem resolved with the US gub'mint, I'd love to meet y'all. _

_Tomcat, sorry, I'm taken. Ring on the finger, mate. Sorry. He's a great guy, and I don't see a need or reason to change. _

_Technochik: Thanks for the birthday wishes. Woo-hoo! (Dances around the motel room.) Y'know, my roomies, who are some very, very smart girls, still haven't managed to prank me on my birthday, and yes, I know at least two of them read this blog (ghod knows why!). _

_Diet Coke. I need caffiene. Coffee or the Diet._

_**  
2 June, 2002 **_

_Another day, another interview. Don't get me wrong, the guy was great, his wife was fantastic, and their daughter was adorable. At least he didnt try to get me to reveal The Secrets of the Universe. (Big clue, here. The answer's 42. Bring your towel.) _

_See, I do have a sense of humor. Or humour, depending on how you want to spel it. Anyway, as I mentioned, I'm here with all the In-laws (to be). A lot of them hadn't seen each other for months and months, so Crystal (my bodyguard, although she's more of a big sister) and I agreed to watch Carson, who's three. This was last night, so while they're having a family reunion over dinner, Crystal and I are off to the kiddy pool. (I received a nice compliment: I was told I was a 'natural mother', and the lady hadn't even recognized me!) Carson went and chased around a couple of playmates and a ball whilst we spake unto length with several of the parental units thereunto. A little informal, but still an interview. I don't mind doing them, but I get the same questions all the time! I will therefore put down a public wager. I'll donate a thousand pounds (or equivalent) to the charity of their choice for an original question. Excluding relatives, co-workers, and schoolmates. _

_So, after the young-un got all wore out, we got him into his jammies. Aunt Mattie and Aunt Crystal told him a bedtime story (made-up ones are the bestest), then when his mum got in, we hit the sack. _

_This morning was a breakfast interview, and one question I had only been asked twice before: what surprised me. Excellent question! In the span of what, 18 months or so, we've gone from a half-built space station to thousands of people living and working in space. We have colonies on the moon and in orbit. What will happen in six months? A year? Five years? Who knows? _

**Comments:**

_SlythieWolf, thanks, I was wondering where that was. Squeeze the sides for five seconds to erase. _

_**  
3 June, 2002 **_

_I have a weird life, and I can hear you (all 4,260 who have bookmarked this blog) agreeing with me. Let's face it, I am not a normal high school kid (and would you be reading this if I were?). Instead of worrying about an algebra test, I sweat alien invasions. Instead of trying out for the track team or the cheer leading squad, I have people trying to kill me. _

_Ah, regular high school would be boring. Still... __**GO KNIGHTS!!**_

_Okay, the Gotham Girl is out for the moment. I did find things funny (in a somewhat dark way) yesterday. I went with the female in-laws to the town market to do a bit of shopping, a bit of haggling is so much fun and I only spent a couple hundred Euros. The guys didn't want to go – too much estrogen, they said. They hung out and watched Carson and did... I dunno. Guy stuff, I guess._

_Guys, you can pause the reading here. Girly stuff ahead. _

_Anyway, I was having problems picking out a Christmas/birthday gift for a relative. Very long, complex story (see above), I didn't know about fashions when she was (see above), so I was looking at scarves. I figure that's a useful present, box it up, yada, yada. Purse-snatcher makes an attempt on another tourist, and I didn't do a thing! I was so shocked, I didn't have to. Advantages of having a bodyguard and police escort. It was entertaining, in a way, everyone's so shocked that The Queen Of Space (cue ominous bass sound effects) would do something so __normal__ as shop. Hello? I get dressed like everyone else, y'know! _

_Okay, guys, you can come back, the girly stuff is done. Guys? Guys? Sheesh, watching the game. What is it with guys and sports? Don't get me wrong, I've played touch football, I run marathons, I don't mind getting dirty and sweaty... Mind OUT of the gutter, please. _

**Comments: **

_Technochik: My dorm at school is just like what you might have at university. There's six of us girls, there's an attached bathroom with a decent sized shower, and four sinks. Two of them have a board across with a teamaker and a coffee pot plugged into the wall. The rest of it, beds, desk, dresser. It's a stone room, underground, so it's cold in winter. (The school is in an old castle.) There's a fireplace for heating, the OFSTED school inspection lady didn't find too many things weird, at least that I know of. _

Arthur snorted to himself, and shoved the laptop aside. He had to think on his own comments, he didn't want to post under Bill's login (5mileBadger), he had to think of a good login.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Tuesday, June 4, 2002:  
Gotham, Archie Goodwin International Airport: 13:03 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Selina waited outside the hidden floo terminal. International arrivals took longer, but Minerva had sworn by these two. She looked up as two figures came out, arguing over something, and stepped forward. "Good afternoon, and welcome to Gotham City," she said with a faint smile. "I'm Selina Wayne."

The twenty-something young woman with shocking pink hair offered her hand, "Tonks. Just Tonks, please. I hate my given name." The older man grunted, eying Selina, who turned to him. "They call me Mad-eye."

"Because you're a paranoid git who hexes his dustbins," Tonks said, and grinned at Selina, while his left eye, replaced with an artificial magical eye revolved disturbingly. He was missing chunks of his nose and right lower leg, replaced with a peg leg, which thumped when he walked. He waved his walking stick at the younger woman, snapping "I'm alive to do it!"

"Yes..." Selina said, wondering privately about Mr. Moody. Still, she would go with Minerva's recommendations for now. "You do know that Mattie will be traveling off-planet in the near future?" she asked.

"Looking forward to it!" Tonks said cheerfully, while Moody grunted. She tried one more time, "You are aware that Gotham City is rather more dangerous than London?"

"Oy, how bad could it be?" Tonks replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Julio waited in the parking garage, hearing the clipping sound of some broads heels. He grinned as he saw a dame in her mid-thirties, black hair, expensive dress, with something that made a thumping sound. '_Wheeled suitcase_,' he thought. With a few quick hand signals, he deployed the rest of the gang, and stepped out, grinning. He smirked when he saw the two with her, a punk younger sister with pink hair, jeans, and a t-shirt for a band called 'Weird Sisters'. The older dude didn't even bother him, artificial eye, peg leg, looked like a washed-up war vet. "Hey, mama, hand over the cash, we'll let you live."

"Oh, really?" Rich Bitch replied coolly. "I only see... eight of you. Why don't you shuffle along back to kindergarten? You don't want to miss your afternoon cookies."

Julio had to give her props, she had some stones. He flicked out a butterfly, and took a step forward, "Why don' we start wi' your little sister? I bet I can make her scream real pretty." He raised an eyebrow when the sister snorted, "Right-o, you bloody twit. You an' what army?" His arm shot out, Mama spun and twisted, and the whole thing went straight to hell.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ugggh..." he said, looking up at a Gotham cop who was holding smelling salts under his nose. He looked down, and struggled, "Where the fuck are my clothes?" he demanded.

"That's how we found you," the cop said, hauling him to his feet. "Naked and bound to the retaining wall." There was a shriek, and he turned to see Gina, one of the two girls in his gang being handcuffed as other cops cut ropes binding... he couldn't see who, but they were all naked, like the cop said. "What the fuck?" he asked.

"You ran into Mrs. Wayne's wizarding bodyguards," the cop said. "Now, you know how this dance is played, you want your rights in English or Spanish?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So where is Miss Wayne?" Tonks asked as the station wagon pulled into the drive of an absolutely bloody huge estate.

"She's visiting Oswald," Mrs. Wayne replied. "She has a business arrangement with him, he puts his limo and driver at her disposal when she's in town." She cranked the window down, punching a number into a keypad on a pole, and the gate clanked and started to move. "Ozzie, Mr. Cobblepot, runs one of the underworld organizations."

"And you let your daughter go off, unprotected, to see some criminal?" Mr. Moody demanded. Mrs. Wayne put the car in motion again as she replied, "Of course, she's perfectly safe. There's a business relationship." As she drove, she added, "I'll show you where your rooms are, they're just down the hall from ours. Don't forget, we get up early for our morning workouts."

"My sister let me know how Miss Wayne liked to exercise," Tonks said. "We could use a bit of time in the gym," she added with a glance at Moody.

"Oh, we start with a run on the track," Mrs. Wayne said. "Don't worry, it's secure, it's around the border of the estate. Eight kilometers, then two hours of free weights and full-contact sparring, then we grab a shower and have breakfast."

"Eight kilometers..." Tonks said nervously.

"That's the length of the track," Mrs. Wayne replied cheerfully, parking the car in an underground garage. "Tomorrow's Wednesday, so we do three laps. Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays are three laps, Tuesday and Thursdays are two laps, and on weekends we kick back and take it easy with only one lap. At least Tomas and I do, Mattie does two laps and only an hour of sparring." She turned off the engine, "Let me introduce you to our house elves."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Wednesday, June 5, 2002:  
Gotham City, Cresswell Academy, room 46: 13:30 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes, and Olivia Reynolds rapped on the lectern. "Ladies, you know what the bell means!" she called, and the chatter died down as much as it ever did. She quickly took attendance, then flipped the file folder closed. She walked back and forth, then said, "We are expecting a special guest for this class, Miss Wayne has agreed to come talk to us." She eyed the door, "I'm a little surprised she isn't here already, she's known for being punctual." She heard a thumping noise, then a hand appeared, rapping on the frosted glass of the door. Mrs. Reynolds went to the door and had a quiet conversation, then two people entered with her. One was an older man with a peg leg, the other a young woman wearing a conservative skirted suit with vibrant pink hair. The man appropriated a stool, sitting with his back to the wall in the front, while the woman moved to the back of the room, perching on a table.

Mattie smirked from a seat in the back row. She had snuck in with other students, a notice-me-not spell on her. She tapped herself with her wand, canceling the spell, and replied, "When you get detentions for being even ten seconds late, you learn to be punctual." Ms. Reynolds' eyes jerked to her, and Mattie gave a small wave as her neighbors jerked around to stare at her. Standing, she walked forward, dressed in her Hogwarts uniform, which blended in enough with the Cresswell girls' uniforms that she didn't stand out. Standing at the front of the class, she set her bag down, saying, "Hi. I'm Mattie Wayne, and these are my bodyguards, Mr. Moody and Ms. Tonks."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So how did you get in without our seeing you?" Ms. Reynolds asked.

"First, we've checked in with the office," Mattie replied, pulling her lanyard off her neck and giving the pass to the teacher. "What I used was called a 'notice-me-not' spell. It renders you unimportant, you're seen, but you fly beneath the radar, so to speak."

"I need that," Annalisa Ford said in a stage whisper.

Mattie shook her head, "That wouldn't help you, if someone has a perimeter spell going. It tells you where everyone around you is for five or ten meters. The problem with it is that in a crowd, it can get very confusing, especially when you're trying to keep track of friends, enemies and neutrals." She smiled, then continued, "You can use a disillusionment spell, which makes you transparent, not really invisible, or an invisibility cloak, which is made from the hair of the demiguise." She pulled up her bag, and extracted a thick, heavy book with a belt looped around it. Holding it up, they read, _The Monster Book of Monsters_ on the front. Setting it on the teacher's desk, they watched as it moved about on its own, discovering the new environment. Mattie continued, "A demiguise is a ape-like creature who evades capture by turning invisible. The problem with an invisibility cloak, or a disillusionment spell, is that you can still be felt, smelled, and heard, all of which require additional spells."

"So what's a kelpie?" Ms. Reynolds asked. "You mentioned it in the first reply, when you said you'd probably be eaten by a kelpie."

Miss Wayne paused for a bit, thinking, then said, "Sorry, I was joking a bit. The Loch Ness Monster is a Kelpie, basically an aquatic monster, but their mouth isn't big enough for a person," and she held up a hand, "No, I haven't seen Nessie." She gestured to the book, which was now sitting quietly (for the most part) on the desk, making small grunting noises. "Look it up."

"A book that grunts," Ms. Reynolds said, stretching out a hand. The book snuffled a bit, but lay still. She undid the belt buckle, and it flipped open with a roar, startling her, it bounced off the floor, moving about the classroom to the shrieks of the students. Mattie grinned, then summoned the book as it was stalking Annalisa with a quick '_Accio Monster Book_!'.

"There's a trick to this book," she said, as it was thrashing about in her arms. Holding it closed, she ran a hand down the spine. It quietly lay where she put it, flipped open to 'Demiguise'. "Okay, I've had my fun," she said, turning at a rap on the door. Quickly, she drew her wand and tapped herself, vanishing from sight as an officious male voice asked, "Ms. Reynolds?"

"Yes, Mr. Wainwright?" Olivia replied, and a skinny, balding man entered. He eyed Mr. Moody, who loomed menacingly, a thin wand in his hand. "I heard screaming, Ms. Reynolds. That's not proper behavior for Cresswell ladies. Is there anything wrong?"

"No, Mr. Wainwright. We're fine, we were discussing politics and it became a bit heated," she lied.

"Interest in politics is all well and good," he declared. "You were expecting Miss Wayne, have you seen her yet? She's checked in at the office with..." he eyed Moody nervously, "...her bodyguards, I'd like to discuss a campaign contribution with her." He adjusted his suit coat. "As you know, I'm running for Congress, I'm certain she would like to contribute the maximum amount." Moody growled, spinning his wand in his hand.

"I don't know where she is, Mr. Wainwright. I'll pass on your message," Olivia promised. "We'll keep it down."

"I can't ask for more from a Cresswell class," he said, turning to leave. Olivia dutifully followed, closing the door and drawing the window blinds as Moody resumed his seat. She turned, "Miss Wayne?"

She appeared, and Olivia jumped a bit, "He's just like I remembered him," with a sour face.

She boosted herself to sit on the desk, adding, "I so wanted to prank him, but I didn't want it to come back on you guys. I hate the officious bureaucratic types, and I don't get involved in local politics."

"Smarmy git," Tonks said from the back of the class, and Mattie said, "No donation."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Gawd, I am _so_ jealous," Annalisa said, and Mattie asked, "Of what? Magic? It's a recessive gene, on average about one in a thousand can do it." She held up her wand, "Yes, this is the one that Grand Mage Merlin repaired on telly. It cost me about $1500 new," and she tossed it to Annalisa. "Pass it around, and give it a wave. If sparks come out, you've got the gene." She continued, "Magic, and money, is a tool, nothing more. It's what you do with those tools in life that make you what you are. You are not locked into your fate, any more than I am. I _chose_ to start Arrowhead. I _chose_ to start the Solar Guard, in both cases I was solving a problem." She indicated her wand, moving around the classroom. "Magic works on planets, not on places like space stations, because it requires natural gravity. Two of my favorite professors got married, they'll be muggles on board my station, because magic doesn't work there. That's a problem for them, but then again, they're used to flying." She looked at Tonks, "Albus and Minerva," she clarified. "When will you..."

"Moony has cold feet, but I'll bring him 'round," she said with a grin. "At least I finally got a ring out of him."

She looked around, "Anyone get sparks yet? I haven't seen any."

"What's it like, living in space?" someone asked.

"Depends on where you're living, although there's one constant," Mattie replied. "You're in a suit, because you need to be, and they're a pain in the butt to get into." She looked around, "If you've ever worn anything like latex, you need to put talcum powder on as a lubricant. Same thing. There's a zipper up the back, and women have three personal connectors (she gestured at her skirt), which you can figure out." The class tittered, and she smiled. "Advantages and disadvantages to the suit. There's a small tank you strap on, you wear over your butt. That's where your... (she cleared her throat), bio-matter goes, a four liter capacity. Low-fiber diet, because the bio-matter is pumped, so you pump out your tank a few times a day. The preferable time to do that is when you're in vacuum, as there's no odor."

"I can imagine," Olivia said. "What else?"

"The suits cost around $5000, and are made in Taiwan," she said. "The suits hug your body, which means concave areas like your armpits bulge out unless you put a small bladder there. For women, especially those of us with a decent bust, you have to support your boobs, which means a vacuum bra." She grinned, "However, I made sure these were front-close." The girls grinned and laughed, and Olivia asked, "Why would you need one?"

"To prevent damage to the tissues," Mattie replied. "The suit compresses you to maintain pressure, it's like wearing a turtleneck full bodysuit. Without the bra, it's like strapping them down, or wearing a too-small sport bra, but you're wearing it twenty-four seven. Not only is it uncomfortable, it causes physical damage. You perspire in the suit, which is how you're cooled, it sublimates against the vacuum."

"Wouldn't you stink?"

She shook her head, "Bacteria don't survive. You can either build in bladders to the suit, or a simpler solution is just to add the bra." She lifted her left arm and gestured, "It's a flat cloth tape, you simply specify your size, in centimeters of course. No shoulder straps, and a soft cotton cup." She shifted where she sat on the desk, adding, "They are currently custom suits, when you're fit you're laser-measured, which means you can't pig out and get fat. You get plenty of exercise working in space, there's also zero-gee handball and tennis courts." She grinned, "Now, I'm not a big tennis fan, but if you think about playing in zero-gee, the ball, and the players, can go anywhere in three dimensions."

"I don't know if that would be positive or negative," Ms. Reynolds said. "What else can you tell us?"

"Let's see," she mused. "You don't have to worry about pads or tampons, you can't shave your legs or pits in a suit. Actually shaving is a problem we don't have an elegant solution for yet," she admitted. "A lot of the guys, and several girls, will simply shave their heads and use a padded cap. Hair is a problem in zero-gee, if it's long it sticks out, like an afro, which is a problem with getting a pressure seal on your helmet. Depending on your diet, it might be conductive, which can create shorts and maintenance problems with equipment. Right now, we're using shaving gel and hair clippers with a vacuum hose, but then you have to capture the gel and the clippings, and you don't get all of it." She looked around, "Anyone like to tinker? There's a project for you. For now, what people on the platforms are doing every few months is going to one of the stations, L1, L4, or L5, and seeing a barber to shave their heads and beards. The problem is that it's an eight hour flight each way, which burns a day off, so there's a lot of schedule shuffling."

Someone raised their hand, "Is it really true, there's no period?"

"IF you go past the moon for a month," Miss Wayne reminded them. "I haven't had one for months, so there are definite advantages to being female in space," she grinned. "Females on average mass fifteen to twenty percent less than males, which is what life support is figured for. Therefore, having more females means you have that much more of a life support reserve, which is one reason we're pitching to women, at least when we get the tourism fully ramped up. So go see the Belt, see the planets." She slapped her hand, "I'm sorry, I knew I was forgetting something, my slide show." She put on this bored, deadpan voice. "This is Ceres. Ceres has a diameter of 915 kilometers. It is primarily composed of water and ammonia ices. It has an escape velocity..." and she slumped to the side with a snore.

Grinning, she sat back up, "My first year history teacher was named Binns. You talk about deadly boring..." Tonks and Moody snorted in agreement, and someone obligingly said, "How boring was he?"

"He was so boring, he was dead!" and tapped a quick rim shot on the desk. "Seriously, he was a ghost, he died sometime in the late 14th century, and just kept right on going. I don't think he even went to his own funeral. When he took attendance, it was for students that had died about 1850. People either caught up on their sleep, or did homework in his class, because he never noticed. He used the same test for six hundred years, so of course everyone got perfect scores in his class."

"Who's teaching it now?" Olivia asked.

"Professor Lupin, who's much better. He has to take a couple days off around the full moons, but that's ok. It's a great class, he's a natural teacher, but he does have that lycanthropy problem." Mattie grinned at Tonks.

"You have a werewolf teaching History?"

"And doing a great job. Really, he looks like anyone else, at least in the 'rumpled professor' category." She flashed another grin at Tonks, "You're working on that, I know," and the pink-haired Auror smirked in reply.

One of the girls turned to look at Tonks, "He's your boyfriend? A werewolf?"

"My sister is, too, an' she rooms wi' the Queen here," she replied, and morphed to imitate Sprink, then Remus. "He says he's too old, too poor, and too dangerous, but that's bollocks," she said, shifting back to her natural form. "A werewolf is just like anyone else, they've just got this rather nasty disease."

Mattie cleared her throat, "Let's get back to space. Next question?"

"What are the platforms like, versus the stations?"

"If you're on one of the platforms, like LEO or GEO, it's something like a submarine. Aluminum compartments, plumbing overhead, they're both in zero-gee. Personal quarters there are small, about twice the size of a walk-in closet, because you can use all the cubage."

"Cubage?" Olivia asked.

Mattie nodded, and gestured at the room. "Here, you're thinking TWO dimensionally, because you're in a gravity field. On a platform, or on a ship, you think THREE dimensionally, because you can store stuff on the 'walls' and 'ceiling' (she finger-quoted), and let me tell you, sleeping in zero gee is _very_ comfortable." She gestured at the wall, "Think about it. When you go to bed here, you lay on a mattress, which takes up a lot of area. There, you're in your suit, some people use a sleeping bag for psychological reasons, others don't. Either way, you sleep in a hammock, which simply keeps you in one place while you sleep. That hammock doesn't have to be on the 'floor' (she finger-quoted again), it could be on a 'wall' or the 'ceiling'. To make your bed, you roll up the hammock. No alarm clock to hit, the computer calls you, or chimes, whatever you set. There are people that don't even bother to use a hammock, they just use a lanyard to keep from drifting." She shifted again, "Each person's room has a terminal, so you can do things like email, you just float in front of it. The mouse is magnetized, by the way."

"I can see having a LEO station, but why another?" someone asked.

"There's actually two others, the GEO station, which is in synchronous orbit, and the NIMBY platform, where the nuclear material goes," Mattie replied, raising a hand. "We have a Canadian company doing satellite repair and refurbishment, they're out of Toronto. That office handles all the legal details about each satellite, who owns it, paying for repairs, that kind of thing. Their LEO office handles the low orbit satellites, like comm satellites, the GEO office handles the higher orbits, like weather satellites. Someone doesn't want the satellite any more, they get a quitclaim and take it apart for recycling. A lot of them are perfectly usable, they just ran out of fuel."

"What's NIMBY?"

"It stands for 'Not In My Back Yard', Mattie replied. "It's a remotely operated platform, orbiting in LEO at about 250 miles, and it takes high level waste, like fuel rods." Ms. Reynolds accepted the wand from a student, returning it to Mattie as she continued, "Something I didn't know, a reactor only burns about five percent of the fuel in a rod, the rest is poisoned by the process, so about every eighteen months, you take the old fuel out and put in the new fuel."

"That's stupid," someone said.

"That's politics," Mattie said. "Now, if you think about it, the logical thing to do would be to recondition the fuel rod. What actually happens in the US is that the old rod is stored, and when the politicians stop arguing, it will be shipped to Yucca Mountain, where it will be stored for half a million years." Shaking her head, "There are two reasons given, the US doesn't have a way to recycle the fuel, and they're concerned about terrorism. Well, we don't have a way to recycle it because the government shut down our only plant, and if we bury it, the terrorists can't build a bomb." She sighed, "The plant in upstate New York was shut down by President Carter, and terrorists can't use spent nuclear fuel to build a bomb, because they'd have to recondition it first."

"What about Three Mile Island, and Chernobyl?"

"First, who knows how a light water reactor works?" she asked. One girl raised a hand, "Doesn't the reactor heat water that generates power?"

"Close," Mattie replied. "The reactor's water supply goes through a heat exchanger with another water line, which drives a turbine to generate power. The radioactive water never touches the power system. The problem with using water is that, while it's cheap, it becomes radioactive and corrodes plumbing, which is also weakened by neutron bombardment. Now both TMI and Chernobyl were light water reactors, which is not what we're using, we're using helium gas. Both TMI and Chernobyl were caused by human error," she continued. "Chernobyl had untrained operators and a poor design. That's a management fault, it was compounded by the Soviets keeping secrets. Three Mile Island, on the other hand, had poor maintenance on a valve, and let the reactor core be exposed. Now, TMI didn't have the roof blown off, but it did vent steam."

"So how are your systems different?" Ms. Reynolds asked.

"First, I don't touch the fuel rods until they get to the NIMBY platform," she replied. "The British, or the Canadians, Germans, Japanese or Russians send their fuel up to the platform. They handle security and shipping up to that point, which I think we can trust them with." She smiled faintly. "Now, for security reasons, I won't go into details, but this is all under remote control... Yes?"

"What if, like, a terrorist tried to make the platform like, fall down?" Several students laughed out loud, and the girl blushed. Mattie waved her wand, and shot off sparks.

"It's a good question," she replied in support, and the girl blushed. "First of all, the platform's in low orbit, so if we completely ignored it for a few years, it would de-orbit." She raised a hand, "Why not put it in a higher orbit, you were going to ask?" she asked another quiet girl, who nodded. "It's a compromise. The shuttle, the less expensive rockets can reach LEO easily. That's about two hundred miles up. If you want to go higher, you need a bigger, more expensive rocket, or for the shuttle, a kick-motor out of the cargo bay. Remember, we've got that gravity well to climb, and I'm a small business. My partners can use an anti-grav lifter, so their costs are much less." She grinned, "Once it's on my platform, I send it on its way to the moon. Now, to answer the question. The LEO platforms, and the other satellites, are above most, but not all, of the atmosphere. You therefore have drag, like a parachute, pulling you down. You therefore have motors to keep boosting you up, and they also keep the platform pointing the right way."

"So, let's say that one of the remote operators doesn't secure a load properly." She cleared her throat, "By the way, these things are the size of railroad tank cars. What happens?"

"Nothing," Annalisa said, and she grinned at Ms. Reynolds expression. "It just floats away. What, you thought I was just a dumb jock?"

"Don't you love busting stereotypes?" Mattie agreed, and said in a different voice, "Go play with your dollies, little girl..." She growled, and said "That's why I like what I get to do sometimes, deflate blow-hards. There's this one planet..."

"Does that mean I get a reward?" Annalisa asked with a grin. Mattie leaned over, digging in her bag, then tossed the redhead a coin that flashed in the air. "That's a wizarding sickle, it's silver, there are 17 sickles to a galleon, so the face value is about twenty-five cents. The metal content is worth more."

"Silver..."

"Go have it assayed," Mattie said. "Anyway, to answer the question, for whatever reason the load got loose. It has a transponder on it, that's a requirement of the UN's Atomic Energy Committee. Strictly speaking, it enters a very slow fall, but practically, you're right. Someone goes out, snags it, and returns it to the platform." She pointed at the original girl, "Why doesn't it drop like a rock?"

"Because..." someone started, and she was waved down. "Here's a hint. I was just talking about the platforms, and drag..." and Mattie leaned forward, waiting. "You can do it. Changing orbits requires delta-v, you've heard of this..."

"Don't be a dumb blonde ..." someone coached. "If it takes a rocket to go up..."

"It would take a rocket to go down?" she squeaked.

"If you want to aim it, I'll take that," Mattie said, and tossed another coin. The blonde fumbled, missing it, someone passed it to her. "When something like the shuttle de-orbits, it has to aim for a particular slot, a re-entry corridor. Too low, they burn up, too high, they bounce off. So, a terrorist has a target, let's make it a nice, big one, like New York City. They want to create a big dirty bomb, so they're going to sneak onboard the NIMBY platform and drop it on New York. They must hate the Yankees," she said with a grin. "What are the problems?" She pointed to a hand.

"It's not designed for it," someone said.

"Excellent," Mattie said, and tossed another coin. "Physically, it's a big aluminum frame with a chicken wire base, a hundred meters square, with some robot arms at each corner. There are some solar panels, and rockets, actually ion thrusters, at the corners. To survive re-entry, something has to be streamlined, aerodynamic." She held up another coin, "Next?"

"Any terrorist would die of radiation," someone said, and got a coin tossed to her. She squealed, and Mattie said, "Assuming they got past the military security, inside a steel container, with an air supply and some way to survive boost and cut themselves out, they're sitting on high level nuclear fuel. They're going to be puking their guts out within a few hours, and dead inside a day. Not very effective. Next?"

"You would have to aim anything," someone said, and she got a coin. "You have to compute a re-entry trajectory, it doesn't drop straight down. NASA has to aim the shuttle to land in Florida, and you have to make mid-course corrections. If a terrorist were able to do that, it could be shot down. Anyone else?"

"It doesn't have to be nuclear," someone said, and Mattie looked at her. "Go on," she said softly. The girl sat up, then looked at her, "You're the Queen of Space," she said. "All you need to do is drop a rock."

Mattie regarded her, "Congratulations, you're the first person to say that. What's my motivation?" she asked quietly.

"Someone pisses you off?"

"Lots of people have done that," she replied softly in the suddenly quiet classroom. "That still doesn't mean I commit mass murder." She regarded the other girl, "You've got balls, you're talking about a weapon of mass destruction. You've just compared me to Hitler, Stalin, and Pol Pot, and to my face."

Moody growled, and someone said, "Way to go, idiot."

"Power corrupts," she replied, licking her lips and glancing at Moody. "How are you different?"

"I've been arrested, imprisoned and tortured by various governments, including the American," Mattie said, and someone sucked in their breath. "I've had professional assassins hunting me, friends and relatives kidnapped, tortured and killed. Marone has a price on my head, seven large, and two days ago someone fired an RPG at me in Metropolis. It's downright dangerous to know me." She gestured at Moody, "That's why I have bodyguards." Her green eyes bored into the other girl's. "When French terrorists killed a friend of mine in London, did I destroy Paris? When Luthor kidnapped me, killing a relative in the process, did I destroy Washington?"

"You overthrew their governments," someone said, and she shook her head. "People say that, I know. Luthor's out of office, but the Constitution is in force. I ask you again, what's my motivation? Why would I kill millions of people?"

"Um..."

"You're saying I'm some sort of dictator. If I was, would I be here?" she asked. Continuing, she said, "Totalitarian governments are either an iron fist, like North Korea or Stalin's Russia, or they are so bureaucratic that nothing gets done. With an iron fist, if you fail, you're shot, so nothing gets done without written permission. The problem there is that nobody except the bigwigs dares to step the tiniest bit out of line, because they don't want to be shot. Mainland China has a one-child policy. What if your kid gets hit by a bus on the way to school? You've had your child. Another one is denied, so if you get pregnant again, the kid is aborted. Too bad."

She continued, "In a central, planned economy, you're set a quota, of a hundred widgets to produce every day. If you don't, you don't get paid, and you don't eat. You manage to do seventy. If you're honest, you and your family starve, so you lie and say you did your hundred widgets. Your boss knows this, but he's in the same spot, so he lies, and on up the chain. Pricing is the same way, it's artificial. The state says that a liter of milk sells for ten cents. The actual cost might be five cents, or fifty cents, but you the consumer will pay ten cents. That means someone, somewhere is losing money."

Annalisa said softly, "Price supports." Mattie turned, regarding the redhead, "You're just full of surprises. Excellent!" and threw another coin. "Explain them."

"The government pays someone to do something, or they'll buy your product at a certain price," she said. "A farmer's cost to produce that liter of milk might be seven cents, but the government says 'I'll buy that at fifteen cents a liter.' So how are you different?"

"I won't kill you for asking embarrassing questions," she replied. "The Honorable Senator Whats-her-name comes to visit, and one of you asks her a really embarrassing question." She looked over the class, "Like I'm sure some of you would like to ask me. The Senator wouldn't answer, and would make sure your life was ruined. I get asked tough questions on a regular basis. Who here has seen one of my press conferences on telly?" Several hands were raised, and she pointed, "Ask."

"Have you... done the deed yet?" several girls giggled.

"No," Mattie replied. "I'm Catholic, and while I did spend the night with Arthur on top of a tower when he gave me this ring (she waggled her fingers), no 'deeds' were involved. Father Tim at St. Marks was relieved to know that." She pointed, "Ask."

"What _is_ your bra size?"

"32 D." She pointed again. "Ask."

"_Would_ you like to rule the world?"

The class seemed to hold its breath as she said, "No. It would be an enormous headache. Now, I will say there are things I'd like to change, like anyone else, but some things seem to work out better without the iron fist. I'll help people if they ask, but it's generally safest to assume people know what they're doing." She looked at Ms. Reynolds, "You've been quiet, you don't have a question for me?"

"How would you set up a government?" she asked.

"I've got a template for that on Arrowhead's web server, although it is buried kind of deep. It's under 'Administration', and it's essentially a contract, articles of incorporation." She motioned to the teacher's computer, "May I?"

"Certainly," she replied, and unlocked it. Mattie moved around, jumping on the Internet and going to Arrowhead's server. She logged in, and started looking for it, when someone asked, "What's 'Project Mixcoatl'?"

"Eh?" She looked up, and the overhead projector was showing the 'Notes' directory she was currently in. Ms. Reynolds said, "Oops, sorry!" and picked up a remote, turning off the projector. She eyed Ms. Reynolds, then said, "I keep notes on various projects, there's no way I could keep all the details in my head."

"There were a lot of projects..." someone mentioned.

"Arrowhead's an R&D company," Miss Wayne replied, then said, "Ah-hah! Found it!" She typed a bit more, then asked, "Type in your email, please," and stepped back. She looked at the class with a grin, "What would an Evil Overlord (she finger-quoted) do here?"

Annalisa smirked, "Boiling oil?" she asked.

"I don't know..." she said, and counted heads. "That's an awful lot of chips to eat. After all, the oil's hot, might as well use it for something tasty..." She grinned evilly and asked Ms. Reynolds, "I know. Will you have this lot again next year?"

"I think so, although things might change."

"Cool." She grinned, "You won't hear the Senator say 'Cool'. Summer homework for them," and people groaned. "Let's say that you are all residents of one of the settlements on the moon, like Grimaldi. The way I see it, my responsibility as your 'landlord' (she finger-quoted) is to provide basic services to sustain life, after that, it's your job. By the way, you have to pass an examination and contribute to my community, starting at age fifteen, when you vote."

"Now that's an interesting idea," Olivia said. "How do you contribute?"

"It's been called 'enforced volunteerism'," she replied. "Each person has a certain quota per year of hours they must contribute to the community. It's a sliding scale, like a tax, the poor can't do all of it in community hours, the wealthy can't simply write a check. That means that I'm going to be pulling weeds in a community flowerbed right alongside someone that's on community support. That lets you network and build up your contacts."

"Interesting..."

"And if you're a politician, like our Senator, that gives the people a way to measure just how much you actually do get out and meet the people. Let's say the Senator has been assessed 100 hours of community service per year. That's not much, about two hours a week, while her opponent puts in a thousand, that's twenty hours a week. Which of the two candidates is more likely to be in touch with you, citizen Jane Doe?" She looked around, "The Portmaster's office provides basic services. If you lose your job, you can get basic shelter, food, water, air and comms through them. It's basic survival, anything fancier you have to pay for."

She waved her hand, "Anyway, benchmarks. They're things like population level, reserves of supplies like food, then we move into medical care and education. The thing is, space is too big for one person to rule any sort of empire and grow the economy. My best way to colonize space, especially as a private business, is to make sure everyone makes a profit. That way, the pie keeps getting bigger. I'm not stupid enough to think mine is the best, or the only way." She looked around the room, "You belong to a cult that believes everyone should paint themselves purple and eat only dandelions, because that is the One True Way? That's fine, I'll be more than happy to sell you a rock in the Belt and the equipment you need to live. I'm going to cash your check, first, of course."

People grinned, and she continued, "So, once again, I ask, what is my motivation? Money? Power? A desire to rule the world?" she asked softly. "Let's take them in order. Money is a tool. After a certain point, you can't spend it fast enough. If I saw a $100 bill on the sidewalk, I would _lose_ money to stop and pick it up. Let's try power. How do we define this? You've pissed me off, do I simply shout 'Off with her head!' and throw you in my dungeon? Hey, I've _been_ to the Tower of London," and she grinned.

People chuckled, somewhat nervously, and Annalisa smirked, "Kill her off, they say."

"Na, a live hostage is more useful than a corpse," Mattie replied. "At least that's what the Evil Overlord lists tell me," and she grinned, wagging a finger. "Hey, I do my homework!"

"What about the last one, wanting to rule the world?"

"Oy, the paperwork!" she complained. "No, I think I answered this. However, I will probably need to do this on another planet."

"Why there?" Ms. Reynolds asked. "This is a social studies class, after all."

Miss Wayne nodded, "Good question, let me brief you. The planet's known as Windfall," she replied. "It's roughly 1500 light years away, in the Orion Nebula, and is a lost colony world. Their parent world, and much of their population, was killed off by a plague about seventy years ago. Why do we care, you ask." She hopped down from the desk, and started to walk back and forth. "One reason is that they allegedly have a large database of alien tech, but they don't have the facilities for manufacture. We, on the other hand, have a large capacity, but no plans, especially for military hardware. What we do have is reverse-engineered. Assuming these plans exist, it would save us quite a bit of time."

"Why don't they make it, and export it?" someone asked.

"Excellent question," Mattie replied. "The plague I mentioned spread off the mainland colony, where their factories were, the one island off shore was a data backup location, primarily a fishing port with some small farms." She drew with her wand, "Windfall is primarily an ocean world, orbits about .8 AU, so it's a warm world, with lots of islands. The port I mentioned is on the largest island, about fifty by 150 kilometers. People that have been there report that it's a beautiful world, it would probably make a nice resort location. Think Hawaii or Puerto Rico without the tourist traps."

With a swipe of her wand, the image was gone. "The plague that hit was a nasty one. It passed by body fluids, the females were the primary carriers, the males the primary victims. You kiss your husband or sons goodnight and wake up next to the corpse," and people shuddered. "They took preventive measures, but they still lost seventy percent of their population, and the other islands, and the population on the mainland. They are, I think understandably, terrified of another outbreak. This allowed the island's Council of Elders to seize power, and they've done a pretty good job of keeping it." She took another few steps, "The population is primarily female, over eighty percent. There are about thirty three thousand males in a total population of about 200,000. The Council has arranged things to use the guilt the female population still feels to arrange things their way. Male property owners are the only ones with a vote, females cannot own property over a certain value. The criminal code is oriented to increase the population, and includes both the death penalty and judicial, term slavery."

"What do you mean?"

"The criminal code for much of the galaxy is based on slaves," she explained. "Break the law, you're sentenced to a judicial collar, one of the ones with green and yellow lights, and sold off like any other slave. Where Windfall differs, at least in theory, is that if a female forgets her breath mask, she's sentenced to a twenty-year collar, a male is fined. After twenty years, you're freed. With Windfall, those slaves belong to the government, and are leased, along with some basic rights. However, if you, a slave, have a kid, that kid is a slave for the rest of her life. For that reason, another twenty-six percent of the population, some fifty thousand, are slave girls." She leaned back against the desk, "The birthrate is skewed, too. Mostly female, only about one in three male children survive."

"So you've got this island paradise..." someone said.

"Paradise if you're a local male," she said, then corrected herself. "Sorry, some of the men there seem okay, according to reports. But if I, a female, go running with my brother, and both of us forget our breath masks, he's fined and I'm collared. What's more, I can then be raped, and any kids sold off as slaves, so you can see why I want to adjust the government a bit. In addition, the island's metal poor, the economy is based on iron, which people buy from the government, because there isn't really any other source. The tech is a mixture of steam and wind power, with some things like arc furnaces and animal transportation, using this huge, six-legged ox called a shonnen. It's bigger than a rhino. They are way ahead of us on ceramics, they have things like ceramic diesel engines."

"Six legs?"

"Oh, yeah," she grinned. "That seems to be fairly common. We had one here a while ago that looked like a six legged multicolored panther with steel teeth and claws. Her fur changed according to her mood, apparently. She was a comm officer on a liner, there's lots of different people out there." She boosted herself on the desk again, "So that's a quick overview of Windfall. What's my plan?" She turned to Ms. Reynolds, "Want to assign homework for summer school?" People groaned, and Mattie grinned, "Hey, I've got summer homework too. It's simple: What would you do in my place to get those plans? I have a plan, and I know what my Intelligence people say. What's your plan?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, who here likes making money?" Mattie said cheerfully, and everyone raised their hands, including her own. She turned, looking at Ms. Reynolds, and raised her eyebrow. "You don't? Someone's making what they want? Oy, veh, I'll talk to the boss," and Olivia raised her hand with a little smile. She got a nod of approval, "I was worried there for a minute. Don't do that again, my heart, you know." This got a chuckle out of the class, and she waved her wand, drawing the word MONEY = in fire in midair. "What is the study of money? How it moves, what influences it, all that kind of wonderful stuff." With her wand, she wrote under the other word, ECONOMICS.

"Yeah, the dismal science," she said. "You need a CFO, people. A Chief Financial Officer, preferably one that loves golf. I tell you, I've learned more about money, and how to use it on the back nine from my Scottish CFO than I ever learned from a book, which is really a pity. Question?"

"What about your running? Did you run in the London Marathon in April?"

"That's a full marathon, forty-two kilometers. I ran a half-marathon this past October. In order to do a full marathon you need to run at least sixty kilometers a week, and I just don't have the time, so I'm doing halves. Good question," and another coin was tossed. "Back to money. Who likes beef here, a nice juicy steak?" Quite a few hands went up, and she said, "On each of the stations, we have a herd of milk goats. Why not dairy cattle? Who can tell me?"

"They're more expensive than goats?"

"True," another coin was tossed. "A dairy cow weighs six to nine hundred kilos, or 1300 to 1900 pounds. It will only produce milk after calving, and only for a few months, then you have to inseminate them again, produce another calf, etc." She shook her head, "It's not cost-effective for our population. For milk we can have goats, and also lots of different types of beans for the calcium. Beans we can use the whole plant, because we can feed our poultry the stalks and so forth. Everyone with me so far?"

A hand went up, "Why are rockets so expensive?"

Mattie grinned, "Great question," and threw another coin. "When rockets were first developed in World War Two by the Germans, their 'customer' was the military. After the war, the US captured most, but not all of the German scientists and their equipment. Once again, the customer was the government. Now, this is in contrast to the way the airlines developed, for the civilian market after World War One. Then, the government had all these surplus planes, so they sold them off for a song. There were also prizes offered, like Lindberg's flight across the Atlantic. That developed into the private aviation industry, Boeing, Lockheed, Fairchild, and all those." She used her wand to write 'Airlines = commercial' and 'Rockets = government'. "Now, government has never needed to keep costs down, to show a profit. A private business does, however. If I don't have a profit, or can forecast one, I don't get investors, and I go out of business. That's what the French government was trying to do in March by exposing the wizarding world, a hostile takeover." She grinned, "They did it wrong. Anyway, the rocket manufacturers have a couple ways to make a profit with government sales. They over engineer and over test everything, use short production runs, and have cost-plus accounting."

Annalisa chuckled, and Mattie tossed her a coin, "Which one you want to explain?"

"Two more," and she got the coins. "It starts with 'cost plus'. Their costs are paid back by the government, plus a percentage for their profit. So they'll specify titanium when aluminum would work, use high level testing when they don't need to, only build a few at a time, and over staff everything." She grinned, "It's like being paid by the hour to mow your lawn. You're going to do it really slowly, instead of for an even twenty dollars."

"And it's all perfectly legal," Mattie said. "We ran into this flight-qualifying our ground-to-orbit shuttles. While we over-engineered the safety and environmental systems, we used existing, proven hardware and installed them into existing airframes that had already been flight qualified. That way we didn't have to pay for each of them again, just that combination. When an air or space carrier like DHL contracts to buy equipment, they're going to pay a fixed price. The manufacturer is the one that has to hold down costs to make a profit."

"All right, moving on, there are three basic economic models, net loss, net gain, and zero-sum. A slot machine is a net loss model, casinos love them, because they're guaranteed a profit. There is a reason they're called a 'one armed bandit', folks. Another is a lottery, because the odds of your winning are so high. Yeah, you might win a five dollar scratch off, but you spend eight or ten bucks to do it. Another is government, because it's guaranteed to get it's share, no matter what. Even if you declare bankruptcy, they're still first in line with they're hand out."

"Zero sum is next, and this is the model that the chicken-little folks are using. There is a fixed amount of something, oil, poker chips, or food, it doesn't matter. The way to make a profit is to take it from someone else." She boosted herself onto the desk again, "Let's say we're in a poker championship. There's a million dollars on the table among us, and for me to walk away with that million, I have to play better, and defeat you, bankrupt you. Now, you might do it to me, but whoever wins, that million is all there is." She looked around the room, "In general, this is the model the galactic economy uses, because you have to look pretty hard to find something that's just a little better. Let me give an example, the skin suit. Ours are an evolutionary design from the old 'Michelin Man' Apollo suits, a Gal-Tech suit looks similar to ours, only it can change color and it doesn't need a backpack. However, they cost about $75,000 to our $5000, and we're already revising our technology. There's no need to pay fifteen times as much for most of our people. The people in Taiwan are already working on things like microtanks, right now the limits are the oxygen supply and figuring out the gloves."

"Gloves?"

"Yeah," and she held up a hand, "There's a surprising amount of hand work in vacuum, especially on things like satellites that were never intended to be serviced. Who here has stuck their hand in dry ice?" She looked around, "That's frozen carbon dioxide, and it's _warmer_ than space. Space is really, really cold, folks. You've got to keep the hand warm, maintain pressure, and do actual work, like turning wrenches." She held up her hand for display, "We maintain pressure by using a thicker rubber glove, like surgeons use, then a thin cotton glove, and a heater glove. On a short lanyard we use good old fashioned mittens, which also have a heater. That's another one for the tinkerers among you, get something that we can use and will stand up to both liquid nitrogen and the concrete test. That's building a concrete-block wall with the gloves on."

"Why are you asking about tinkering?" a petite blonde asked, and Mattie stared. "Are you thinking 'I'm a girl, I don't know anything about that?' she asked.

"Don't buy into that stereotype," someone said. "You don't have to know how to take apart an engine..."

"Thank you," Mattie said. "Let me tell you about Misty. She's Hank's fiancée, he's Arthur's older brother. She's in college for Chemical Engineering, so she's a pretty smart person. On her first trip into space, she fixed a problem we had, saving a man's life in the process." She looked around the room, "On the moon, one of the people we had cracked his helmet. You lose pressure, you've got ten seconds, that's it, to save your life. He had a cracked helmet and was half an hour from the ship. We got him back in time, but she came up with a simple backup." She looked around again, "We installed a clear plastic bag inside each helmet. You crack your helmet, it will maintain pressure long enough for you to get inside. She patented it, we licensed it and it's already saved several lives. She's made enough from that, she can pay for a really nice wedding anywhere she wants, although she's got standing invitations for Moscow, Cracow, and Havana. That's what I mean by tinkering, it doesn't have to be a new warp drive, it just has to solve the problem."

"Anyway, as I was saying, the galactic economy has been stagnant for hundreds of thousands of years because in general, it gets to 'good enough' and stops. If there's further innovation, it's not brought to market, it's not given a chance to improve unless it's in a very select area. It's like the fabled 200 mpg carburetor, it's supposed to be out there, but nobody's ever seen one. Have airplanes improved since the 1920's, have automobiles?" She looked around the room. "The galactic economy is essentially stuck with the Model T. It gets the job done, AND THAT'S IT."

"Everyone still with me?" She looked around, "Cool. The chicken-little people are saying 'There's only so much oil, then we run out, and everyone starves to death in the dark and cold.' I say that even if it's true, oil is not the only energy source. We have an absolutely free energy source only a few hundred kilometers away," and she pointed straight up. "Average of 1350 watts per square meter in GEO. Now, I will be totally up front with you, and say there are two times a year, for about ninety minutes each, that a powersat doesn't receive power, and those are the equinoxes. It's a matter of orbital mechanics, but you know about it well in advance, so you bring on a few backup generators." She shrugged, "It happens around midnight, so there's a lesser demand." She hopped off the desk and slapped it. "This desk is about a square meter. In orbit, it gets 1350 watts, on the ground it gets between 300 and 800 watts. That's your power budget. Now, a modern solar panel has an efficiency of twenty percent. Who's got a calculator handy? Twenty percent of 1350..."

"270 watts," someone replied.

"Thank you," Mattie replied. "We'll get to the cost of building the system in a minute. Now, the powersat is a kilometer wide and long, or a million square meters. Therefore, the usable power from the solar cells is 270 watts times a million, or 270 megawatts." Mattie pointed her wand, writing '270 MW' in midair.

"How does that compare with other power plants?" a slightly chubby blonde asked.

"The Grand Coulee Dam in Washington, the biggest power plant in the US, is rated for over twenty times that," Mattie admitted while pointing at the floating numbers. "That makes mine look pretty small, but remember, this is a test satellite. We built this one to work the bugs out with and test procedures. The production units could be much larger."

"Getting back to that 1350 watts per square meter. We're turning 270 of it into electricity, and figure to lose 80 watts per square meter for things like transmission losses. That leaves a thousand watts. We can lose them, and dissipate them as heat, or we can be smart business people and find a way to use them. We do that by using solar thermal, which is thirty percent efficient, which means how much?"

"Three hundred megawatts," the girl with the calculator answered.

"You got it. Mind you, just because we have that energy available doesn't mean we currently have uses for it. We have to make sure the uses we do find don't interfere with the rest of the plant. But still, the original source of energy is free, any excess heat we can either use in space or just radiate away. The energy comes to us, with oil or coal, you have to pay for it and have it delivered, and you have both heat and pollution to worry about." She clapped her hands, "Let's see how much we get on the ground. Microwaves have a very high transmission efficiency, up to 90 percent. Of that 270 megawatts, we get?"

"243 megawatts," calculator girl replied before asking, "What about the receiving antenna and the environment?"

"Cheap," Mattie replied. "Wires on poles, a circle seven kilometers in diameter, so about the size of a small airport. You can plant vegetables or graze cows under it. You do need to have a small building for the various gauges and whatnot, but that's a concrete block building fifteen feet square with a tin roof. For buying the land, permits, fencing, taxes, and so forth, figure ten million for all that. Cuba's figures were different, a command economy, they used eminent domain. For us, we'll figure ten million bucks. The heat stays in space, and the airliners swerve around the beam, even though they don't really have to. There's been something like forty years of environmental studies."

She clapped her hands, "Now, let's pay for this baby. Our revenue is the 243 megawatts from the solar panels, and the 300 megawatts from solar thermal. Now, our expensive stuff is the electronics, the panels and beams are made of lunar or Belt materials, so we're going to say $1.80 a watt for our construction costs, including the receiving antenna costs. Now, orbital iron and silicon are really cheap," Mattie said, "you amortize your costs over time, in this case twenty years."

"For a Belter, supplies and the mortgage on your ship are your high costs, to sell an iron asteroid to me, you sell it on the futures market. You mount some thrusters on them, calculate the orbit, and boost. God and orbital mechanics deliver them, and you'll know to the minute when if nothing breaks down while you're boosting. Your fuel for that is water, you sell futures based on your core samples. You also sell your mining produce, but that's on the spot market, so the prices are going to fluctuate. You buy this satellite from me with a twenty year mortgage, because you amortize over a twenty year period with very low maintenance costs. There is some weathering from the solar wind, so you have to perform maintenance on the panels about every five years, which is the rate NASA uses. That's dismounting it, annealing the surface, and remounting it. Tedious, but that's why you have robots. So, you're paying me five cents per kilowatt hour, how much am I making?"

"Those numbers sound awful low," the math girl objected, and punched her calculator. "543 megawatts, which is 543,000 kilowatt hours, at... ninety percent efficiency, you said?" Mattie nodded, suggesting, "Why don't you do costs first?"

"All right, but I'm going to do this on the board," and walked up, writing her numbers. "Five hundred forty three million, times a dollar eighty, is nine hundred seventy seven million, four hundred thousand." She redid the math, then said, "You amortize over twenty years, so you divide, and get forty eight million, eight hundred seventy thousand dollars a year."

Someone whistled, and Mattie shrugged, "It's a utility. You should properly amortize over fifty years, and if it was a hydroelectric dam I would. This is new-to-us technology, so we figured conservatively, for twenty years. Now, that's my cost. What about revenue over twenty years?"

Moving to another part of the board, she wrote, 543,000 kw/h, times ninety percent efficiency, equals 488,700 kw/hours. Talking to herself, she said, "... at five cents a kilowatt hour, that's twenty four thousand, four hundred thirty five dollars an hour revenue, times twenty four hours is five hundred eighty six thousand, four hundred forty dollars per day, times..."

"Three hundred sixty five and a quarter days in a year," Ms. Reynolds said, and her student punched numbers, then whistled as she wrote $214,197,210.00 _per year_.

"We've got that time in the equinox that service isn't available," Mattie said. "Figure ninety-nine percent uptime." More numbers were punched, and a new number was written: $212,055,237.90.

"That's my revenue," Mattie said. "A nickel per kilowatt hour is fairly cheap, which is what you're paying me. Now, let's figure my profit margin, which is revenue minus costs per year."

The math girl was re-checking her numbers, then she wrote:

$212,055,237.90 revenue  
-$ 48,870,000.00 costs  
$163,185,237.90 _gross profit_

"Looks like a lot of money, and it is," Mattie said. "The only thing that makes the numbers work is lunar and asteroid material, if I had to launch steel beams from Earth, I couldn't afford it. Now, I'm taking that hundred and sixty large, and I'm investing it back into the business, because I have to pay for things like space stations and orbital smelters. What's my profit percentage?"

"Seventy seven percent," she answered.

"So this is my cash cow, my sixty-watt light bulb. However, I have other expenses, like the stations that aren't paying their way. The modeling won't cover expenses until the transportation and tourism sectors get built up, and to do that, I need a greater volume," Mattie said. "What other costs are there?"

"Oversight. Somebody has to keep an eye on everything on the station and on the ground," Annalisa replied. "Make sure everything stays pointed in the right direction."

"You have a guide laser on the roof of the rectenna building," Mattie said. "Goes off center, beam shuts off, it has to stay aligned."

"You have to build the rectenna and keep it in good repair," another girl said.

"Remember that ninety percent of the rectenna is wires on poles," Mattie said. "The rest is just assorted meters and transformers, you want a little overpressure on amperage so that it flows out to the grid. You also have to buy the land, about the same area as a small airport, erect fences, put in a dirt road. We figured ten million for that, which is built into the $1.80 per watt cost."

"Taxes."

"Government," Mattie replied with a grin. "Varies enormously, but it won't effect the costs a whole lot. What else?"

"Backup facilities," someone said, while Annalisa added, "Security."

"Backup facilities would be if someone cuts a high voltage line, which would come under security," Mattie said. "To get to the transmitter, you'd have to fly up to GSO, and we would notice that. That's really all I can say about security. Anything else?" She looked around and grinned, "Now, this is the net-gain method. You're forgetting the benefits of orbital construction. My material costs and manufacturing energy costs are essentially free, my labor costs are higher because my union crews are getting hazard pay. These union steelworkers sit and watch monitor screens, they very rarely have to go out to service their construction bots. They've got a sweet job and they know it, which is why I don't have labor problems. I can afford to pay them that, and have extremely strict safety standards. Furthermore, I can pay higher rates than terrestrial for things like iron, because the miner's major costs are servicing the loan on his ship and transportation. They go out, find an asteroid with iron, and start to tunnel through it while they stay in their ship and watch. They get bored, but that's not my problem. Every so often, they fly back, sell their ore, party at L5, resupply and go back out. Everyone makes money, because the pie just keeps getting bigger."

"Another example, please," Annalisa said, leaning forward intently.

"Okay, there's an older fellow at L4. He's a World War Two vet, bad left leg and arm from the Battle of Kursk. One of the benefits my people get is some free legal time. He came up with a nifty idea for a coffee mug, he glued a small magnet on the bottom, a screw-ring on top, and a nipple type cap. He's selling them as 'Genuine Space Mugs' to the tourists we're starting to get, and it's such a simple design people are kicking themselves. He used his legal time to file a patent in Berlin, which is enforceable, his costs are low, and he's making a very nice little profit on that."

"I don't quite follow," Olivia said. "What's so special about a coffee mug?"

"It keeps your coffee where you want it," Mattie said. "In zero-gee, fluids form a perfect sphere, and go where they will because of air currents, which creates a problem with electrical equipment. You need gravity to keep fluids in, or something else." She gestured, "A zero-gee coffee maker looks like an espresso machine, you program it for your beverage-of-choice, it burps it out, you cover your mug and go on your way. The magnet on the bottom simply keeps it on the console you're working on. The tourist mugs are black, a white picture with the phrase '_Someone went to L1, and all I got was this stupid mug_!'"

"Classic schmaltz," Olivia said, and the bell rang. "I'd like to thank Miss Wayne and her colleagues from coming by."

"Ms. Reynolds, can I ask a favor? Can you return our passes, and we'll sneak out with the rest."

"And avoid Mr. Wainwright?" Olivia said with a smile, "Of course, I think the number 27 bus goes by Bristol."

"That's ok," Mattie replied with a grin. "We have... alternate transportation."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Thursday, June 6, 2002:  
Gotham City, Wayne Manor: 04:56 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"C'mon, Tonks, you can do it," Mattie said. "You're halfway there, only another four kilometers."

"I'm dying..." she said.

"Okay," Mattie replied, as the pink-haired Auror collapsed, sitting on the track. "I'll tell Sprink that..."

"You'll tell her nothing," Tonks said, struggling to her feet. "I'll be dammed that she's doing something I can't," she told the younger witch, who was jogging in place. "G'wan with you, but tomorrow I bring my bloody broom."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Thursday, June 6, 2002:  
London, British Library, main entrance: 09:59 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Edward!" Aurora held out her hands, and Eddie Nigma took them. "My dear, you're looking well," he said, then turned, crouching and holding out a hand, "As are you, my dear. My name is Edward Nigma, and you are?"

"Mis... mum has been calling me Emma," the rescued slave girl said shyly. "Is that acceptable, Master?"

"Now, what did we say about using 'Master' and 'Mistress'?" Aurora asked.

"It is not the action of a free female," Emma quoted, and dug into the pocket of her jeans, holding out a coin to Edward. He accepted it, looking up at Aurora. She moved to a bench, and adjusted Emma's jacket, "We made an agreement, every time she used the term, she would pay me a penny. She's down from about thirty pence a day to four so far today. That's one for you." She turned Emma, "Now I have to pop off to class, I'm already running late. Edward needs to look some things up, and you, young lady" (she tapped Emma's nose), "need to work on your schooling also." Aurora looked up at Edward, "You have my mobile number?" He nodded, "She's a _very_ obedient girl, and very bright too. Unfortunately, her basics are limited. I'd suggest getting a private reading room, she has a habit of confusing Trade and English. Right now we're working on algebra, she has some work pages to get through." She leaned forward to kiss Emma's forehead. "Any preferences for dinner tonight?"

"If Emma does all her pages, why don't we let her choose?" Eddie asked. "I need to study for my engineer's examinations. Call my cell when you get out of class, about what, five or so?" Aurora nodded, and disappeared with a 'pop'. Eddie adjusted the bag on Emma's shoulder, then his own, and offered his hand. "Come, my dear. Let us go explore the mysteries of algebra."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Edward looked up at the tapping on the glass, and smiled. He waved, and Aurora entered with another young woman. "Edward, this is Callista Vector, she teaches Arithmancy and is Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress."

He stood, offering his hand, "How do you do?" he said with a smile, and offered a seat. The ladies sat, and he raised an eyebrow, "I thought you were going to call."

"Your mobile was off," she said, then turned, "How is Emma doing?"

"I do apologize," he said. "This young lady is an excellent student," he replied. "While we haven't gotten through all her pages, we do have a solid understanding of linear equations, and a working knowledge of exponents. I foresee quadratic equations in the next few days." Callista looked up from Emma's pages with approval, "You're not using a calculator?"

"She won't learn it that way, all she'll learn is to push buttons," Edward said disdainfully. "Paper is cheap, as is pencil lead. Also, not one penny, so I think we can safely let Emma choose dinner tonight. She has earned it."

"Excellent," Aurora said, and the young girl blushed. "Thank you, mum," she said softly. She looked up, "Spaghetti?" she asked timidly.

"At the flat, or eating out?" Callista asked, "We're sharing rent on a flat, London is a bloody expensive town."

"Yes, I am staying temporarily in Miss Wayne's townhouse until I find a place of my own," he said, then looked at Emma, "If the ladies do not object, we could eat in, I am already tired of take-out."

"Then we need to pop by Sainsbury's for the ingredients," Aurora said. Eddie rose, "I need to get a library card and check my books out, then. Ten minutes?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"The key to a good meal," Eddie told Emma, "is that it should not only nourish the body, but also the soul. Now, I must know, do you have any food restrictions, any allergies?"

"No," she replied. "What do you mean, nourish the soul?"

"My dear, we get into metaphysics and philosophy there. Suffice it to say that you should feel good about what you have accomplished. You have done well today, you have learned, but one does not learn only during certain hours. Life is not only mathematics, it is art. Let us start, as you would with a building, with a solid foundation. Once that is in place, we can build upon it."

Emma looked confused. "There are containers of red sauce there. Why not use them?"

Eddie knelt, so he was looking her in the eye, "My dear, it is the difference between replicator food, and something that is fresh. Fresh not only tastes better, it allows you to grow by experimenting, to see what works and what does not." He tapped her forehead, "We are different people. My duty to you is to teach you, so that you can learn, grow, and teach others, as part of your duty. What I like may not be what you like, but how will we know until we try, hmm?" He stood, and offered his hand, "I shall show you tonight a simple vegetable sauce which you may then experiment and grow with. You will undoubtedly take a different path but that is a good thing. Come, let me show you how to pick fresh vegetables."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That's right, chop the tomatoes," Eddie said to Aurora. He turned to Emma, "You want to cut the garlic very finely, because it will be easier to crush them later. You use a glass cutting board because a wooden board, like Aurora is using, will absorb the odors and you'll be smelling them later."

The young girl leaned forward, sniffing, "I like it, it smells nice."

"The finer you cut, or crush then, the stronger the taste," Eddie said. "However, some people do not like a strong taste, so you use a moderate approach." He caught Callista's grin, who saluted him with her wine glass. "You can always add to your own serving later," he added. Glancing at the blonde witch, he said, "Those who kibitz, clean."

"No worries," she replied, sipping her wine. "That should be enough garlic, y' think?"

"Yes," he agreed after giving a judicious nod. "Put the mashed garlic in the oil to cook, and the remaining cloves," he clarified. "The small sections. Place them in a plastic bag" (he handed her a small bag), "with some water from the tap, enough to cover them, but not fill the bag. Leave a space to vent, and put them in the freezer for later use." While Emma did so, Eddie checked the garlic, "Come take a look, see the nice browned color? Add the tomatoes, please, when they are almost done we add the cream..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Friday, June 7, 2002:  
London, Parkinson Construction: 10:00 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Edward stood as a young woman entered the conference room with a fellow and an older lady. "Mr. Nigma? I'm Pansy Parkinson," the young woman said. "This is Mr. Oliver from our engineering department, and Ms. Hardy from HR, won't you please be seated?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Now, Mr. Nigma, I understand you need to be re-licensed as an engineer," Pansy said. "Ms. Wayne said..."

"Excuse me," Eddie interrupted. "I do not take charity. If Ms. Wayne asked you to hire me, then I must bid you good day."

"Mr. Nigma," Pansy said sharply. "Ms. Wayne asked me to _interview_ you. She did not pull strings to hire you. She did say that you had had a spot of legal trouble, which had caused the forfeiture of your existing licenses. Depending on the legal issues, which we shall check on, we may or may not tender you an offer. That is the extent of the 'charity' (she finger-quoted). Now, shall we proceed?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Interesting..." Mr. Oliver mused as he regarded the sketch on the legal pad. "Most interesting, certainly a way to think outside the box." He sat back and regarded the American, "How much travel are you up to?"

"I would prefer to stay in London," Eddie replied stiffly. "I went off planet for the Guard for several months, it was rather traumatic. In addition, I am dating a young lady teacher who is trying to adopt one of the refugee slaves, I cannot abridge that responsibility. The young girl in question is waiting in the lobby."

"Hmm," Pansy said. "If we can accommodate her, would you be willing to consider Phobos, in Mars' orbit?"

"No further, and only for a week or so, until her school starts back up in September."

"Which school is the young lady teaching at?" Ms. Hardy asked.

"I believe it's called 'Hogwarts'," Eddie said, and Pansy sat up. "I went there. Who's the teacher?"

"Ms. Sinestra."

"Oh, I know Aurora," Pansy said with a grin. "We're housemates. I presume you have no objections to a background check, Mr. Nigma?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Friday, June 7, 2002:  
Gotham City, Wayne Manor, gymnasium: 17:05 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I think I've seen enough," Selina said. "Mr. Moody, Ms. Tonks, I don't know why Minerva recommended you two as bodyguards, but you are not suited for this duty."

"Take away your wands, you're helpless," Mattie said, and with a quick '_Expelliarmus_!' they were disarmed. "I'm going off planet, and you can't use magic for two reasons. First, it doesn't work in space, you have to be on a planet. That means if pirates try to board us, you're useless."

"Second, if you do try to use magic on a planet, it's going to paint you, and everyone you're with as a target in big, glowing, neon colors. Only a Zarroj, a wizard, does magic, you see, and those are mythical beings. Having an actual, live Zarroj, especially a breed-able one in your collar, is worth a fortune. They will do anything it takes to capture you alive." She tossed their wands back, "In addition, it puts Earth itself at risk, because they're going to backtrack you to see if there are any more. That means a hostile invasion, and we're not ready to stand anything like that off." She stood and stretched, "A bodyguard should be invisible, and I don't mean literally. They have to blend in, and Tonks, neon colored hair with a skirted suit doesn't do it. You get a barely-passing grade. You drew far too much attention when we went camera shopping today."

Selina said, "Mr. Moody, you stood out for a different reason. You're eye revolving is somewhat sickening, your peg leg is noisy, and your constant shouting is annoying. You also need to bathe more. Didn't you talk to Madame Pomfrey about getting your eye and leg regrown?"

"Don't have the time," he snapped.

"I'll offer you a dip in the med-tank, if you can spare a week or two, we'll see about regenerating them. However," Mattie said, "You're both staying here. Hagrid, quite frankly, would be more useful as a bullet sponge."

"If you would like to stay and coach Tomas, you can," Selina said, nodding to her adoptive son. "Otherwise, we'll take you to the airport, you can catch tomorrow's flight to London. You're fired."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Saturday, June 8, 2002:  
Gotham City, Clock Tower: 13:02 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, guys, come on in!" Dick said, stepping aside for Selina, Mattie and Tomas. "Babs is feeding the young'un, she'll be out in a minute. Can I get you anything?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, hello, Miss Mary Elizabeth," Mattie said softly to the baby as she rocked her gently side-to-side. "I'm your Aunt Mattie, and I'm sure we'll get along just famously..." Mary Elizabeth considered this, scrunched up her face, then coughed, and Dick snorted in laughter. Mattie raised the baby so her face was level with hers, and said, still softly, "Why, Miss Mary Elizabeth, even if you disagree with me, you don't have to spit up all over a fifty Euro silk blouse..." Mary Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and sneezed, and Tomas came over, a towel already over his shoulder and another one in his hand for Mattie. He held out his arms, "Buenas tardes, Seniorita Mary Elizabeth. Soy tu tío Tomás. ?Por qué no hablamos de cosas mientras Tía Mattie limpia su blusa?" (Good afternoon, Miss Mary Elizabeth. I am your Uncle Tomas. Why don't we discuss things while Aunt Mattie cleans her blouse?)

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Saturday, June 8, 2002:  
London, Tonks home: 16:51 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oy," Tonks said as she came through the kitchen door. Her sister looked up from her book, "I thought you were in the States with Mattie."

"Got fired," she replied, slumping down in the nearest chair. Her mum floated over some tea, and she mumbled, "Thanks." She sighed heavily, "I rated as 'barely passing', they said I stood out too much, and I was helpless without m' wand." Taking a sip of tea, she added, "The exercise they do! Merlin! A twenty kilometer run _every_ day, then weights, and THEN they fight each other? They're _barmy_!"

Her pa set his tea down, "Nymphy," Ted asked. "Be objective. Were they right?" His eldest daughter closed her eyes and nodded, "I feel like a failure," she whispered.

"And will you learn from this?" her mother Andromeda said. Nymphadora nodded again, and Sprink put her tea down and walked around the table to give her sister a hug. She held her at arm's length, and said, "Want to come with me? I need to do some shopping, and we can sign you up for muggle martial arts. They're dead useful, you know, and maybe the Ministry will pay for them."

"What I feel like is a good cry," Tonks admitted. "I'll come, let me change into some comfy clothes, out of the suit."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What's with the crisps?" Tonks asked her sister as she loaded boxes into the Costco™ trolly.

"You think I'm going without my crisps, you're barmy," she replied. "Off to fetch my tea," she announced. "You think I'm living on fizzy drinks like Mattie?" She blinked, then said, "Sorry."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Saturday, June 8, 2002:  
Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle: 17:32 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"And just what do you think you're doing, young man?"

Arthur looked up at his mother, "Making lasagna," he replied calmly. "A couple little tricks I learned from Mrs. Potter at school." Elena swooped in, putting a wine glass in her mother's hand, "Sit, mom. Take a load off." She steered her mom to a chair at the kitchen table as Arthur waved his wand over the deep dish pasta.

Arthur added, "Besides, tomorrow's Elena's birthday, but we've got to get down to Ecuador on an early fire. We figured we could eat; then open presents." He added to his sister, "One's kinda from Mattie too."

"What's from Mattie?" Teela asked, coming in the kitchen. She headed for the oven, and Arthur slapped her hand away. "No peeking. Besides, since I can't be here for Mom's birthday, you're part of her present."

"If I said something, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, my... a twenty gig iPod? These aren't released yet!" Elena said.

"Not for another month, but there are advantages to having a girlfriend who is a Japanese noble," Arthur admitted. "Normally, I would have waited, but with the scheduling the way it is..." he shrugged. "I figure you're going to have time to kill while you're on the flight deck of a shuttle..." Elena launched herself at him, "Oh, this is so cool!" He looked at his mom, who smiled in approval.

"Open the other one," Bill said. "This is from Julie, Teela and myself."

Elena ripped open the package, seeing a stack of CD's. "Oh, cool," she said. "I don't think I've heard of the 'Weird Sisters', though."

"They're a wizarding band," Julie said. "They all are. Your tastes are so eclectic, we got suggestions from everyone at school." She glanced at Teela, "Take a look at the back of the one on the bottom, the 'Cauldron Melters', the artist."

"It's... 'Teela Jandrova'," and Elena looked at her sister. "You..."

"Me..." Teela said, buffing her fingernails. "Several of them, really. Grandview Music, Ltd. A fine alternative label, featuring the best of..." she was tackled by her sister, Arthur raising his tea-mug and said softly, "Happy birthday, mom."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 9, 2002:  
Heathrow, International Floo Departure: 08:05 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So. You're set."

"Yes, pa. I've gone over my checklist, I've got everything." Charlie took a deep breath, "I'm ready."

"Take care, son," and swept him into a tight hug. "If your mum were alive..."

"I know, pa. I know." Charlie took a deep breath, hugged his father one last time, then said, "I've got to go." Reluctantly, his father released him, and Charlie took another deep breath, then turned and walked to the gate.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Sunday, June 9, 2002:  
Quito, Ecuador, International Floo Arrivals: 10:23 (GMT -5)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The fire turned green, and Arthur turned, watching Mattie step out and dust herself off. He waved at her from his place in the Customs line as Elena looked over her shoulder. Two places ahead, Sprink turned with a grin, "Oy, no cuts. Back o' the line."

"Yes, ma'am," Mattie said with a grin. "Going on up?"

Sprink moved into place with the Customs bloke, who said, "Senorita, the next shuttle is not until 13:00. You have time to visit our markets."

"And pay duty on those items," Arthur observed.

"Si, senor," the Customs fellow said with a grin.

Sprink yawned, "'M sorry. I'm still on London time. What about breakfast?" The Customs fellow returned her passport, "Welcome to Ecuador, senorita. There is an excellent restaurant in the center concourse." As Sprink moved on, he asked Elena, "Seniorita, you are next, por favor?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Putting her finger across her lips in the universal 'silence' gesture, Sprink crept up on a dozing Charlie, who was dressed in a white Greywolf jumpsuit like hers. He slumped in a seat, his luggage strapped to a trolley next to him. She slid in next to him, and started to play with his hair, getting very close. He mumbled something, and she leaned forward to kiss him, whispering, "Charlie... Oh, Charlie, they've called your flight..."

He mumbled something about 'Mum' in return, and she shoved him, "Oy, Charlie, I'm not your mum!"

"And we're all so _very_ glad about that," Arthur said dryly as Charlie woke up. "How long have you been here?"

"Um..." He bolted up, "I _bloody_ have missed my flight!"

"Time zones, Charlie," Mattie replied, sitting across from him. Arthur said, "Excuse me, I think I recognize someone," and left to walk across the concourse. Mattie pulled out her new Nikon D-100 and attached a lens, firing off a few frames. Charlie grinned, pulling out his own Canon. He turned as a young woman asked, "That's your guy Morton, isn't it?"

Mattie turned around, "Pansy! Welcome to Ecuador, won't you join us? Yeah, that's Arthur, and this is his sister Elena," and she waggled her left hand.

"No worries, Wayne, bit young for my taste. Catching the 13:00 flight?" Pansy wore a jumpsuit like they did, only hers was a navy color, with her name embroidered on the left breast, and a white panel on the back that said, 'Parkinson Construction'. Her own luggage trolley had a vacuum helmet as well as a well-used hard hat, she wore knee boots that had seen some rough times. She clearly went out in the field and got dirty.

Arthur shouldered some of the luggage, and walked with the younger boy over to meet them. "Guys, this is Mike Myers, a neighbor of mine. He's the pilot of our ship going out Helium mining on Uranus, my dad, Hank and Misty aren't here yet." Elena grabbed some of the luggage and set it with theirs.

"We've got time, you can hang with us," Mattie said. "Mike, Elena, Pansy..." and she introduced everyone.

"I'm feeling peckish," Sprink said. "When's the last time you ate, Mike? Our shout." The kid shook, "No, that's okay, I'll be fine..."

"Mike," Mattie said, leaning toward him, "Really, we don't mind." She reached out, tilting up his chin and looked in his eyes for a moment, "You don't have much cash and you're thousands of miles from home. I'd be scared, too," she said softly. "You're neighbors to family, that makes you almost-family." She chucked him gently on the chin, "Don't worry, we got your back. First thing you're going to do is call home, then you're going to eat, and I'll take care of getting you to L5 and make sure you have a roof over your head."

"Got the first part," Arthur said, pulling out his new mobile phone.

Charlie leaned forward, "Mike, mate, you need a luggage cart, and you've got enough snacks and film and whatnot?"

"I've got a camera!" Mike replied, pulling out an inexpensive one. Mattie dug into her bag, "Mike, you're on the trip of a lifetime, you're visiting _The Outer Planets_, not Disney. Take my backup camera, Arthur, make sure he has batteries and the largest memory card the shop has."

"I'm not taking your camera," he said stubbornly.

"Mike, I have one," and she held up her Nikon. "That's my backup, and it's a loaner. You can get it back to Arthur later, okay?" She mouthed 'credit card'? to Arthur, who shook his head, tapping his wallet, then he reached over and took the small Olympus. He gently slapped Mike's shoulders. "C'mon, Mike. I'll explain how the Mattie system works," he said as they walked off.

"Why is he down here without _cash_?" Pansy snarled, and Sprink said, "We'll find out," as Mattie took a few steps to dial her own mobile. "L5 Stationmaster's office, please. This is Ms. Wayne."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We're back..." Arthur announced. "We couldn't get hold of Mike's folks, the line was busy. I called Mom, Teela is going to run across the street, we'll try again later. Apparently Dad, Misty and Hank got hung up in Paris on some travel snafu with their flight, Mom will let them know."

"Good," Pansy said. "Now then, Mr. Myers, was it?" Mike nodded, "You're going to eat, because you won't get another chance between GEO station, where we part, and L5, which is several hours flight."

"Where we part?" Mike asked.

"We said we had your back, mate," Charlie said. "You run with us to GEO, we're going on to Eunomia, your ship is at L5." He leaned forward, "The shuttle leaves here at 13:00, but we're five hours behind London, which is when the stations keep time, so in that half an hour or so, you're going from lunch to dinner at 18:00, when you'll eat again. The transfer shuttle isn't pressurized," Charlie continued, leaning forward, "No pretty stews in miniskirts..." and Sprink swatted him.

"Call your folks from the station before you leave," Mattie said. "I've made arrangements with Mr. Cheung, he's the Stationmaster at L5." She leaned forward, "His family is from Taiwan, I think he's got ten or twelve kids, so I hope you like real, authentic Chinese food, cause you're bunking with them until Mr. Morton catches up." She passed over a scribbled-on folded paper napkin with her business card, and Mike stuck it in his pocket.

"Now Mike," Sprink stood up, "Let's go line our stomachs. My shout, mate." They wandered off to the cafeteria, and Charlie leaned forward, "Why is he broke, mate?"

Arthur finger-quoted, "'Entry and transit fees' and that kind of thing," he replied. "He had about five dollars left after that, he didn't feel like he had any choice, by himself..."

"Right-o," Pansy said, peeled bills off a wad, "Walkabout dosh, fifty quid, match it," and dropped it on Mike's suitcase. Arthur dropped five twenty-dollar bills and waved off Elena, Charlie dropped five twenty-pound notes, "Including Sprink," he said, and Mattie dropped five ten-Euro bills. Arthur collected it, "Thanks, guys."

"Family, Morton, Family," Pansy said. "Let's eat, shall we?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Pansy had a strong (but quiet), word with the restaurant manager, which resulted in a sudden upgrade in the quality of the food. Mike didn't realize that his glass of milk kept refilling itself, as did his bowl of chicken and rice soup (courtesy of Sprink's wand). He was too busy talking on Arthur's new mobile phone to family in Columbus.

"Thanks, everyone," he said, then felt a weight in his jacket pocket, and pulled out the cash. "Um, I can't accept..."

"Yes, you _will_ accept the _loan_, Mr. Myers," Pansy said, leaning forward. "Our repayment terms are that you help out, in some way, someone else. You pay it forward, Mr. Myers. Is that clear?" Mike blinked, then said, "Yes, ma'am." An overhead speaker came to life, "Greywolf Flight 239 to GEO station, first call for boarding..."

"That's us," Charlie said, and started to put things back together.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"An 18:00 flight up to GEO, London time, then a transfer to a shuttle going out to Eunomia, which should put us there about... when?" Arthur asked.

"Docking, paperwork, about eight hours," Sprink said, "That means in our cabins on base about... 02:00 London, so..." She yawned. "When is this meeting?"

"Room's booked from 08:00 to 12:00, probably won't be that long," Mattie said, and yawned herself. "You've got me doing it now." She nodded at Elena, who was catnapping next to her brother. "She's got the right idea."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Okay, Mike, this is Senor Gonzalez, he's the Stationmaster here at GEO." Mike had recovered enough balance to shake hands. Mattie continued, "Your flight to L5 leaves... when?"

"Fifty-three minutes, Senorita Wayne," he replied, and sniffed. "Unlike el francés (the French), we can be on time."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, O Queen of Space," Elena twisted around in her seat. "Make a note, next revision of the suits, external jack for the helmet speakers." She waved her new iPod and Mattie said, "Duly noted, but you should put it in the suggestion box." She grinned when Pansy said, "I'll bite. Where is it?"

"Mercury," and Pansy laughed. "Filters out the bad ideas," she said.

"Of course," Mattie said. She grinned, "Elena, check out some of the garage bands in the stations. One I like is called 'Gleaming Slag', they're out of L4."

"And there's one at L5 called 'Banging Steel'," Pansy said. A lady tisked from behind them, "Isn't there any good old fashioned music? Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Frank Sinatra..."

"Actually, there is, ma'am," Mattie shifted to look behind her. "Last I heard, there was a nightclub act at the Holiday Inn that played music from the Thirties through the Sixties. Electronic keyboard, though. Can you imagine what the freight on a grand piano would be?"

"I can just imagine," she said, and extended her hand, "Gladys Knight, I'm sorry to say no relation."

"Hello, Mrs. Knight, I'm Mattie Wayne," and she managed to work her hand back to touch fingertips. "Sorry, this isn't a first class seating."

"That's quite all right, dear." She looked through her helmet, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like that young woman in the news?" Pansy leaned forward, cackling as Mattie said, with a straight face, "I get that a lot, but would she be sitting in a converted beach chair?"

"No, I'm sure she wouldn't," Mrs. Knight said, and Pansy howled. "Is your friend all right?"

"Yes, she's British, you know, reserved, stiff upper lip and all that," and Sprink started to giggle. "Carries a brolly all the time in case it rains..." and Charlie started to crack up. "Considered World War Two a 'minor tiff with that Hitler chap'..."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you're there to keep an eye on them," Mrs. Knight said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, June 10, 2002:  
15 Eunomia, Conference room #8: 08:15 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Pansy took her assigned place along the table, at the head Wayne was dressed in a black jumpsuit with a yellow turtleneck under. She had a name strip, white on black that simply said, 'WAYNE', with light purple collar points. Opposite her, Morton had a similar jumpsuit, his labeled 'MORTON, A.' with a red turtleneck and no collar points. Across from her, a middle-aged Japanese fellow wore a navy jumpsuit similar to hers, 'KOMATSU' was his name strip, he wore three gold collar points with a thick gold bar above it. To his left were two other Captains, a petite Asian woman wearing a white jumpsuit similar to Tonks and Adams', her strip said 'ALVAREZ', while a bearlike Russian in a Black Guard jumpsuit claimed 'SENYAVIN'. To Captain Komatsu's left was a fellow wearing woodland fatigues named 'GRUBER', while two sisters wore black Guard jumpsuits, each with 'DE GALAIS, L.', and finally, in black was one of the most attractive young men she had seen in a while, 'KOSA'. She told herself firmly, '_Down, girl. He looks like a Veela_.'.

Wayne stood, rapping her knuckles. "Thank you for coming. We've got quite a bit to go over, this is the final departure briefing. Please take one and pass it down. This is a secure document, please sign and return the NDA. Does anyone need a pen?" she asked, handing a stack of folders and sliding a box of pens to the younger Tonks sister on her left. Wayne took a cloth bag, writing on it with a Sharpie™ marker. "Each witch and wizard, please take a bag and write your name on it, I'll get to it in a minute." She passed it to her left, "Now then, introductions. Representing Greywolf, Ms. Tonks, Mr. Adams to her left (Charlie raised his hand). To his left is Ms. Parkinson from Parkinson Construction." (She raised her hand.)

"Across from Ms. Tonks, to my right is Captain Senyavin of the _McCoy_. To his right is Captain Alvarez (the petite Filipino raised her hand), who will be commanding the ship we're buying for Greywolf. To her right is Captain Komatsu (who raised his hand), commanding the construction vessel Parkinson will be buying. To his right is Hauptmann Gruber, who is in overall command of the infantry, each of the three ships will have a squad of about twenty or so men. Across from him, the blond fellow is Mr. Kosa, he and the two de Galais sisters are the wizards covered as comm specialists. Finally, at the end of the table is Arthur Morton, and the disk is the remote for Mr. Pennyworth, who is the AI that is installed in the _McCoy_." She grinned, "Got all that?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Turning the remote for the hologram on, it appeared above the table, showing a star chart with green and red dots connected by a thin yellow line. "This is our course, we will be leaving the Terran system, the green dot, and traveling to the Eridani system, which is the first blue triangle. You'll notice it's fairly close, but this will allow you to get your feet wet on another planet."

She allowed them to study the diagram for a moment, before touching the remote to show an overhead view of an island. "This is Eridani's Prime port. You'll notice it is on an island, spacers are discouraged from leaving it. I must apologize for the overcrowding on board our ship, we are carrying three full crews. However, it will be temporary, as transit time to Eridani III is only about half an hour, but working in and landing will probably take half the day." She took a sip from her water glass, "Once we have arrived, we anticipate a stay of about three to four days. Spacers generally do not leave the Port area, and you will need to be visibly armed. This is why you have been issued body armor, and will be carrying a shotgun." She raised a sword, "The katana is mine, by the way. The idea is 'an armed society is a polite society', but if you get into a fight, let the infantryman you're partnered with run things. Think more along the lines of 'bar brawl' than 'Shootout on Main Street.'"

Taking another sip of water, she continued, "This brings up a general problem with our wizards, and the reason for the cloth bags. Wizards are known as 'Zarroj', plural 'Zarroji', because Zarrox is a known magical world. The natives of the planet Zarrox are essentially hermits, monks, very peaceful, and they don't go out in the galaxy. They haven't seen the need, but they have, very thoroughly, kicked the asses of the last fools that tried to invade them. The Guardians do not consider them a threat."

She cleared her throat, "However, another magical world, Ysmault, decided to do a little conquering using both magic and technology, and the Guardians of Oa decided _they_ were a threat." She smiled thinly, "Possibly because their supreme leader was just a little crazier than Voldemort or Hitler. The Guardians sent a lot of their Green Lanterns out, the planet was sterilized by orbital bombardment, and any surviving Ysmaulti were hunted down and exterminated, although not by the Lanterns themselves. That was on the far side of the galaxy, about fifty thousand years ago, we'll see the supernovae in another thirty thousand years." She let them consider this, "We do not wish to be seen as any sort of threat to the Guardians of Oa. We must be mice, hiding in the walls, and one way to be noticed by the cat, the Guardians, is to perform magic."

"How does this tie into our mission?" Pansy asked.

"Remember, the Guardians of Oa consider magic a threat, and have continued to stomp on magic users, and since they are powerful enough to extinguish a star with a snap of their fingers" (she snapped hers), "we don't want to let them know we're around. The first part of the problem is that a live, breed-able Zarroj is worth a lot of money in the slave markets. If word gets around that you're a Zarroj, you and your shipmates are going to be hunted like rats."

She stood, leaning forward on the table, "The second part of this is that Zarroj, that witch or wizard, will be backtracked to Earth; we had a hard enough time holding off the Imperix invasion, we _cannot_ hold off both hostile fleets AND some genocidal Guardians of Oa." She looked down the table, "We have to hide our abilities, a simple, unthinking '_accio_' in a market can doom us."

"A summoning charm?" Mr. Kosa said. "I don't believe you."

"Fine. Stay. You are still bound by the non-disclosure agreement, please leave your briefing materials here. Your security clearance is revoked, please catch the next flight back to Earth." She waited, silent, as he stared at her, then stood, making his way out.

Mr. Adams asked, "Wasn't that a little..."

"Harsh? I don't think so. His bruised ego versus the lives of six billion people?" She shook her head, "No, to remove that reflexive, unconscious spell-casting desire from all of us, I'm going to ask you to place all, and I do mean all, wands and other wizarding kit and place it in the bags. Those will be in the possession of your ship's Captain."

"Pardon," one of the de Galais sisters asked, "How are we to perform our duties without our magic?"

"Good question," Mattie replied. "After we purchase the other two ships, the _McCoy_ will shuttle up the transfer racks. They are installed in the Captain's cabin with the other computer equipment, the major point there is to make certain they do not lose power. In flight, your duties are to make certain the charms are operational, and to top off the operation potion if necessary. Aside from that, they are very low maintenance, a fairly low orbit is required for gravity, those specifications are in your documentation. You're there primarily to re-cast the charms if required and otherwise to serve as the ship's comm officer." She turned to face the three Captains, "Whichever ship will be going back to Earth in late August, I'll serve as a temporary comm officer so you won't be short-handed."

"Brief me in," Pansy said. "I'm going to be on the ship anyway, I can help out and stand a watch, if that's agreeable," she asked. Captain Komatsu nodded, "Most agreeable, and thank you." She turned, "I assume self-defense would be muggle?"

"Yes, your magic requires natural gravity to function, so it would only be good on a planet or large moon," Arthur said. "I'm sure you can feel how much weaker yours is here, the natural gravity is supplemented by artificial gravity."

"What does it feel like, your magic?" Captain Alvarez asked.

"For me, normally it's a warm, tingly feeling when I hold my wand," Charlie said. "Here, I can tell it's there, but just barely." He drew his wand, pointed it and said, '_Accio biro_!' and the pen barely stirred. "Normally, that would have flown into my hand." He glanced at Mattie, "I can see her point, though. Doing something like that in a street market would be sure to draw attention, as opposed to simply reaching for it." He stood, starting to pull equipment from various hiding places, and the other wizards followed suit.

When the Captains had the bags of wizarding equipment on the table in front of them, Wayne said, "As we've said, you'll be muggles in space and on stations, so in the event of a pirate trying to board, you'll be under the command of your ship's Captain and infantry Feldwebel."

"What are the odds of that?" Pansy asked.

"Decent," Mattie replied. "We've had half a dozen of our ships attacked by pirates, one was boarded, they fought off the pirates. This is why our Captains are experienced naval personnel. Captain Alvarez was one of the training officers of the Philippine Navy. Our window of vulnerability is when we leave the convoy and have to cross open space. Our destination is in the middle of the Orion Nebula, which can be compared to an archipelago. We're lucky to get Captain Alvarez, we're looking for small unit experience and what's called 'brown water' and 'green water' tactics."

"In rivers, close to shore," Gloria Alvarez explained. "We don't fight submarines and carrier groups, we fight patrol boats and frigates. That's why we'll be training."

"Excellent," Captain Senyavin said. "I served with the Red Banner Fleet, a blue-water navy. I hope to learn quite a bit from you, Captain."

"In addition," Hauptmann Gruber said, "We have designs and replication patterns for airlock defenses against boarding parties." He grinned slightly, "For example, claymore mines in a high-oxygen atmosphere should work very nicely, and we will also be training. One cannot have too much training."

"This brings up two other points," Wayne said. "First, we have been recognized as a government by the D'hee'wal, which means we can legally carry mil-spec shipboard weaponry. We will be refitting with those. Secondly, each ship will be getting two training chairs. These are virtual reality chairs, and should we have any personnel with Enhancement, they can simply 'jack in'." She grimaced and tapped the side of her head.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Wayne continued, "As I said, we'll be buying two additional ships, a general cargo ship, non-atmospheric which will go to Captain Alvarez and Greywolf Transport. The second ship will be a specialized construction ship, which will go to Captain Komatsu and Parkinson Construction. We will have some fresh midshipmen from the Guard we'll divide up as shuttle pilots, this will be their snotty cruise."

"Snotty?" Pansy asked, and Captain Komatsu replied, "Their first cruise, they are very young, very inexperienced. Their first cruise under real-life conditions." The Japanese officer smiled slightly, "I remember mine, we shall make theirs memorable."

"My sister Elena is one of them," Arthur said. "I don't want to be on the same ship..."

"We shall arrange it, Mr. Morton," Captain Senyavin said. "Please continue, Ms. Wayne."

"Thank you," she replied. "Two recommendations. First, we need to load up on Fuel, primarily for use here in the Terran system. We only have 2200 kilos or thereabouts, so if you can overstock, it would be appreciated." She keyed the holographic map again, moving the blue dot to the second small arrowhead, "Second, Eridani is a class seven system, we're going to buy the ships, leave there, join a convoy for Tosul, which is a higher, class five system. We'll refit the weapons there, buy any equipment or supplies necessary, and join another convoy when ready. We estimate about a week there, while the ships are being fitted, we're going to look into a suitable building for a trade embassy."

"Why not buy the ships in Tosul?" Pansy asked.

"It's about a week or so transit time," Mattie replied. "While you're all wonderful people, I don't want to live in your laps that long." People chuckled as she continued, "Once the work is finished, we leave Tosul, bound for Mangione." She indicated a blue arrowhead that was off the yellow line. "They're a class four system, that leg is about three hundred light years." She moved the blue dot on the yellow course track. "Once we get to here, we leave the convoy, entering the Orion Nebula. This is the most dangerous part of the trip," and she keyed the remote for the holographic display. "If you notice, our course track is an upward curve. With three ships, we should be safe enough, but a single ship is likely to get jumped in here by pirates, because we have to move slowly. About a day later, we should arrive at Secundus, Windfall's star system. Any questions so far?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What are the assignments?" one of the de Galais sisters asked. Mattie looked down at her notes, "Lise, or Lumi?"

"I am Lumi," she answered.

"Thank you," Ms. Wayne replied. "You will be working as comm officers with equipment that is rated 'Terran wizard only'. What this allows you to do is send text email across interstellar distances." They didn't look impressed, and Charlie said, "That's a big deal, nobody else can do it. It gives us instantaneous communications between ships and planets."

"Outside of jump space, FTL shipping," Arthur said. "You have to be in normal space, and the equipment cannot lose power for even an instant. Everyone else has to send a letter, which can take weeks to get there."

"It's like sending email from London to Tokyo in a few seconds, versus a letter in the 1800's," Mattie added. "Then, you had to have a ship cross the Atlantic, around the Horn, and cross the Pacific. It could take months."

"Hmm," Captain Alvarez said. "Interesting..."

"Very," Captain Senyavin said. "What about security?"

"It's a direct link between stations, we have a station in London and another one here on Eunomia," Mattie said. "The equipment is not tappable, but we're using automatic encryption. The equipment synchronizes time with the Royal Observatory in London, part of the bridge display has the date and time in London." She swiveled in her chair, "Each installation is issued a CD with the public encryption keys for London and the other installations. Either you or Captain Alvarez, as part of the secure cargo on your regular shipping routes would update and issue disks as part of your normal visits to different installations. That's how we can find out and respond to situations so quickly." She gestured at Charlie, "Mr. Adams, as part of his duties, will be making an installation and training video, which will of course be highly restricted. His cover duties, which are legitimate, are to compile the video from the small cameras we'll wear on our walkabouts into information on each location; do's and don'ts."

"I expect to be doing quite a bit of traveling between sites," Charlie said with a grin.

"A ship's boat," Hauptmann Gruber said. "You'll probably be with me, Herr Adams. Once we reach the planet, what then?"

"Once all three ships are there, we will play it by ear," Ms. Wayne said. "We're going to drop a dozen of our comm satellites into orbit, these are both GPS and data relay, as well as some weather satellites. Once that's done, we'll drop in the medical team and their equipment." She indicated the briefing folder, "The most current data we have for that site is a good fifty years old. Based on the orbital scans, we've got a preliminary camp layout for you. That's suggested, modify as you see fit. We've got field fortifications, those big two meter tall vertical sandbags."

"Hescos," he identified them. "Good, those should be adequate. I do intend to borrow civil engineers and their equipment, and I notice you've got diesel equipment. What about fuel?"

"We have two tanks of diesel in forty foot containers, the Island locals also produce biodiesel and other biofuels," Mattie replied, and swiveled in her chair, "It's the Hauptmann's call who goes dirt-side, the locals were reported as 'feral', and they shot down a shuttle."

"Joy, a hot LZ," Hauptmann Gruber said. He flipped through his briefing packet and grunted. "TO & E, good."

Mattie said. "They may be feral, they could all be dead. We just don't know. We will be getting at least one assault shuttle capable of water landings in case we need to do a Dunkirk. However, once that is resolved and the medics have hopefully (she rapped the table), made a clean pronouncement, they're going to pack up and move to the other two sites while we drop in some prefab buildings and environmental monitoring stations. Twelve to fifteen of those, we're going to scatter those across the continent. So, Captain Alvarez, Hauptmann Gruber, it depends on you. We've got some Russian personnel carriers if it is a hot LZ, we don't think the locals have anything heavier than bows and arrows, maybe some old hunting rifles."

The Hauptmann grunted in thought. "This plague, it seems to be airborne?"

"So far as we know," Mattie replied. "The base store has additional NBC gear if you feel you need it. I'd limit the amount of people dirt-side as much as we can."

He tapped his pen on the table. "I want to get started on those defenses as quickly as possible."

Ms. Wayne nodded. "Your decision. We've got 5000 meters of two meter high cylinders packed in forty-foot containers, A/C units with heaters if it happens to be snowing, a backhoe loader for the sand bags..." She shrugged, "Our scheduled departure is Friday morning, if there's something you absolutely need to have, let us know."

"So far, I don't see anything critical," Hauptmann Gruber said, looking through his packet. He looked up, "Fraulein Parkinson, Captain Alvarez, are you available for a breakfast meeting after this?" The two women looked at each other and nodded.

"Good," Mattie said. "For the rest of you, we have a supply depot if you need BDU's or other uniforms or combat boots, which they do have in women's sizes. Woodland pattern. The ship's armory is stocked with shotguns, side arms and ammo sufficient for all three crews. We also have additional supplies, I notice that Ms. Tonks brought along a large supply of potato chips." There was a few chuckles, and Ms. Wayne grinned. "I brought along a good supply of Diet Coke™, myself." She looked down the table, "Are there any questions?" People looked back and forth, she then rapped her knuckles, "Meeting adjourned, good luck to all of us, and I'll see you on Friday at 05:00 in Bay 35."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Look nice, mind if I wear them out?" Mattie asked the sales guy. He was cute, wearing the blue golf shirt and tan slacks of the Swedish logistics contractor. She admired her new boots, and covertly, Olaf, the sales guy. The boots were black, with a rough-cut finish and a thick sole and steel-tipped toes, with a top half way up her calf. Olaf was thin, with well-kept shoulder-length blond hair. She asked him as she handed over her AMEX card, "Do you know how long the cafeteria serves breakfast?"

"Should be all day, ma'am," Olaf replied, giving her a second glance as well as she boxed up her other shoes. "If you'll excuse me, this will just be a minute."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Crowded today, may I join you?" she asked the table of black jump-suited women. One of them turned, "Yeah, sure," then took another look and blinked. "Ma'am..."

"Sit down, I don't bite," Mattie said, putting her briefing documents to the side, on top of her boxed shoes. The girl looked at the binder, stamped 'TOP SECRET' in red then offered a weak "Ma'am..."

"You can tell me, though, if the two girls in your section got their collar lights turned off," Mattie asked, putting a dab of apple jelly on a bite of toast. She chased it with a gulp of milk, as the girl replied, "I don't think so, ma'am. They're still on the waiting list."

"We need to jump the line for them, then," she replied, taking a bite of her eggs.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, Elena," Arthur said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Arthur?" she asked, then saw his briefing binder, with the big red 'TOP SECRET' on the cover. "Are you, I don't know, pulling strings for me?"

"Not intentionally, and not unless you specifically ask," he said, putting down his cafeteria tray. "I can't sit with my sister?"

"Well, um, sorry..." she mumbled. "Did you check on the money transfer?"

"Yep," he replied, fixing his tea. "Two hundred kilos of tungsten for each of us through Gringotts." He gestured in the vague direction of the ships, "I'll transfer the actual metal when we board, they're still loading cargo. Separate accounts at Lantern Bank?"

"You're better informed," she said, then added, "It's going to be awkward having us both on the same ship," she mentioned.

"I know," he said, cutting his ham into strips. "It shouldn't be that long, though. A few hours, maybe a day or so. I did ask that we be on separate ships, Captain Senyavin said he'd take care of it." He popped the bite of ham and eggs into his mouth and chewed. "If this is replicated food, it's not bad," he admitted. "Almost as good as Hogwarts," he considered.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ms. Tonks," Captain Alvarez said, putting her tray down. "Let's talk logistics and ships."

She swallowed her bite of scone, washing it down with tea. "Right-o. I'm jolly glad we can use bigger guns. I've been looking into inventory and shipping, 'cause Mattie, Ms. Wayne, is looking at Phobos as a supply port."

"All very well," Gloria said, flipping open her own notebook. "If this communication system works as advertised, I can see it giving us an enormous advantage." She drew two circles, connecting them with a line on the legal pad, "We have Tosul over here, Mangione here." Below that, she wrote '300 ly' and then said, "What's the convoy speed?"

"Five an hour, I think she said," Sprink replied.

"Sixty hours, plus getting into and out of the system and load time, figure four days each way," Gloria said, writing '4 days' under the line. She took a sip of her tea, "As I understand it, the way it's being done now, someone on Tosul wants something from Mangione, they send a letter to their agent, who negotiates the deal, sends a letter back with the details, it's approved, back and forth. At four days each way, it could take a month to work out the details before the order is actually shipped, and from what I understand, it's break-bulk shipping."

"Now this I understand," Sprink said. "Goes back to World War Two, shipping individual crates and barrels instead of on a pallet or in a container." She took a sip of her own tea, "Not only does it take longer to load and unload, you don't move as much material."

"And with us, we charge freight to ship it, so the more we move, the more we make," Charlie added.

"Don't forget dock fees and stevedore rates," Gloria said. "Even if you're using slaves as stevedores, you may not pay them a salary, but you've still got to buy them, feed them, and give them medical care, and you've still got dock fees. Because break-bulk is slower, your ships spend more time in port, paying money, than out carrying cargo and making money. A forklift may cost the same as a slave, but if the cargo is palletized, it can carry more, for longer hours, so it pays for itself quicker."

Charlie and Sprink nodded as Gloria continued, "With our system, they send an email through us to Mangione, back and forth, but it might take a few hours, a day at most. They set up payment arrangements, I think Lantern Bank is the only true interstellar bank?" They nodded, and she crunched on some bacon, "They set up letters of credit and whatnot through Lantern, Mangione processes the purchase order." She arranged a sausage patty, "Now, the basic unit in international trade is a 'pallet load' – what fits on a standard 40" x 48" pallet. Doesn't matter what it is, it could be boxes of shoes or 200 liter drums of fish oil." She arranged two patties side by side, bordered by two strips of bacon. "A cargo container is eight feet wide inside, so two pallets fit nicely, and they stack with a forklift. Four barrels of fish oil to a pallet, stretch wrapped. Say it takes another day for the barrels to be delivered to our Mangione facility, we palletize and wrap them, shuttle it up to our ship with the other cargo, and leave for Tosul. Two days for that, four days for transit, a day for offloading, another for Customs. Eight days, we call the Tosul client, 'Pick up your shipment,' or we deliver for a fee." She took a bite of her eggs, "Eight days, versus a month."

"What if the Tosul client only wants one barrel?" Charlie asked.

"We ship one barrel, but it costs him more per barrel than to ship four," Gloria said. "That's his decision, probably based on shelf life. Pressurized, or specific environments would cost more, as would livestock, and we simply don't ship slaves. Period." She cradled her tea in her hands, "The combination of efficiency and communications gives us a decided advantage."

"What if the client doesn't pick his stuff up?" Sprink asked.

"He's already paid for it through Lantern, we give him something like thirty days to make arrangements, then sell it at auction to cover our costs." Gloria shrugged, "That's his problem. Our problem is breaking into this market, and the easiest way I can think of is to offer the first shipment free."

"We buy it?"

"No, we eat the first shipment's fees," Charlie said. "Like cocaine, the first taste is free..." and he grinned at Gloria.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
15 Eunomia, Bay #35: 05:02 (GMT)**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Marsden matting? Why do you want that?"

"Steel matting for decking, roads, landing pads," Gruber replied. "Not the material itself, Fraulein Wayne, the replicator patterns. Marsden matting is simply a convenient name for it. No, an industrial replicator will be far more useful to us..."

"We can also use matting with reinforced concrete," Pansy said, then looked up as the ship trembled, ever so slightly. "Here we go..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
Eridani space, approach queue: 06:27 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"(Madame Wayne, a moment please?)" Mattie heard the soft French request as she was crossing the _McCoy_'s mess deck. A former ambulance ship, the up-rated life support plant was supporting close to four times the normal crew complement.

There were three ship's crews, a twenty-person detachment from the WHO, a company of infantry (which would be split into three squads), and another dozen or so random specialists including geologists and an intelligence team. Close to 150 people lounged around and waited, the ship's mess was popular. Across the room, Mattie could see at least six card games going, as well as people sleeping, reading paperbacks, listening to music and of course, simply eating or having a cuppa.

"(What can I do for you?)" she replied in French, taking a seat, putting down her cup of coffee along with her assorted briefing folders. She smiled, "(I'm sorry, but I'm still having trouble telling you two apart.)"

"(Perhaps this will help, Madame Wayne,)" one girl replied. "(I, Lise, prefer hoops,)" and she brushed her hair back, "(while my sister Lumi prefers studs.)"

"(Now that we have the fashion discussion out of the way,)" Mattie said, "(What can we do for you?)"

"(We have a problem...)" Lise admitted. "(Our father... well, our mother...)"

"(Whom you met at the pool, with the young boy. She was most impressed with you...)"

Mattie decided to stop the dancing around. "(Yes, I remember her, please give her my regards. Your father is on an extended holiday in the Pyrenees, courtesy of DGSE.)" She leaned forward, "(Now the question is, what do we do?)" She looked up, switching languages, "(Piotr, a minute? You've won your bet.)"

"(Excellent!)" a pleasant young fellow said, dropping into an empty seat and putting his tea on the table. Lumi blinked, "(How... you knew...)"

"(Of course we knew,)" Piotr said in French. "(I am a professional.)" He turned to Mattie, "(When things are safe, you and your Arthur will have a drink or two with us. You still have much to learn.)" He picked up his tea, regarding the two rather nervous French girls. "(You think DGSE is the only agency trying to infiltrate us, to learn our secrets? Non,)" he said. "(CIA, with their wider ethnic background has had an easier time, but the Chinese MSS is still prowling around. Guard Intelligence, especially the 'Five' personnel like myself from KGB or BND have our own experience in this game of chess.)" He took a sip, "(Enough shoptalk, you are what we in the trade refer to as 'unwilling dupes'.)" He looked at them across the mug of tea, "(Regarding you two, your security is simple, you simply stay on your ships, and continue to send your personal emails home. Your mother and father are a different matter. We have two choices there.)"

He took a sip of tea, then set the mug down. "(The first option is the easiest. You simply do as you have been asked, reporting through your code to your mother. We would of course control what you report, as you will be on separate ships, it is natural that you would email each other as well. This allows us disinformation, similar to the British compromise of the German spy network in the Great Patriotic War. However, it does leave your parents in the control of DGSE.)"

"(I thought that when you overthrew the government, things would be different,)" Lumi said to Mattie.

Piotr snorted, but said nothing regarding that. "(The second option would be to extract your mother and father from their mountain hideaway, and hide them. I would prefer not to do this, there is a greater risk not only to them, but we also lose that channel and burn agents in DGSE. We would also be forced to 'discover' your activities as spies.)" He leaned forward, "(Please rest assured, in the event you choose the first option, should there be risk to your parents, they would be extracted and set up someplace comfortable. It is only good business to do so.)"

"(We do have trade missions on different planets,)" Mattie said, still in French. "(New identities, biosculpt and so forth, in order for DGSE to find them, they would need to know which of the four hundred billion stars they were posted to, the exact stellar coordinates, and obtain transportation.)" She leaned back, taking a sip of coffee, regarding the two Frenchwomen. "(Once the current difficulty is resolved, we should be leaving Eridani in three days or so. We'll expect your decision before then.)"

"What is the difficulty, I thought we should have landed by now," Piotr asked in English.

"A small ship had part of its' cargo break loose and killed some of the crew. They were carrying an exotic animal, an eight meter polar bear, and it got out of its cage and is roaming around the ship," Mattie replied.

"Why don't they just reduce the oxygen?" Piotr asked. "The creature would fall asleep soon enough."

"Apparently they can't get to the engineering section to do that, it's in the crew compartment. The cargo is destined for some rich collector with a private zoo," Mattie said. "Hauptmann Gruber is looking into going across and seeing if he can tranquilize it so they can re-cage it and deliver it." She raised her hands, "Not my call, but because the ship can't maneuver, it's got the inbound and outbound queues messed up. Anyway, that's why we haven't landed yet."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
Eridani space, approach queue: 07:19 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ach, that's a big one," Hans Gruber told himself as the enormous beast wheeled and snarled at him. He threw a flash-bang, and the bear lunged up for it, and as he did, Hans shot him in the only vulnerable point, the top of his throat.

The tranquilizer darts sank in, yellow blood appearing on the white fur, and Hans shot a few more for good measure. The beast snarled again, took a step, then thudded to the deck in the frosty air. Waiting a minute, Hans emerged from his very basic cover, tranquilizer gun aimed, then motioned to his hosts, "I think you'll be all right. Want some help re-caging him?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
L5 docks, **__Olentangy__**: 07:58 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

***_Brinnng_*** "Hello?"

"Hi, mom! I'm just calling to let you know we're about to leave," Mike said from his place on the flight deck. "I wanted to let you know I love you all."

"Oh, my baby..." she sniffled. "I was so _worried_ when you were by yourself..."

"Mom, it turned out OK, and if you could go over and thank Mrs. Morton again..." Mike turned, looking over his shoulder, then adjusted his headset, "Mom, I think Mr. Morton's on the phone with her now. Look, I've got to go, we want to leave exactly on time." There was a little catch in his voice, "We'll... I'll be fine, mom. I love you..."

"Love you too, baby..." and with another sniffle, the connection was broken.

There was silence on the flight deck, until Bill Morton cleared his throat, "I miss them too. Ready, Mike?"

"Ready, sir," he replied. "Standing by for separation burn in three, two, one..." Mike pushed a button, holding it, and precisely on time, the _Olentangy_ cleared the dock.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
Cambridge, MIT housing, barbecue pit: 11:46 (GMT -5)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"...y'see," Chantal said, fishing three more beers out of the cooler, and popping the tops off with her thumbs, "I gotta do good. I come from this little hick (she burped), coal mining town in West-by-god-Virginia, and I swear to god that I do not want to live like my sister (she turned politely and belched over the hot coals in the pit), with six screaming kids and a high school education. I gotta do good." She took a pull on the fresh beer, "An' if that means working a crappy job with men leering at m' boobies, then tha' what I'll do." She took another pull at the bottle, "Your turn."

"I was born in 1365," Anne said, taking a pull from her own beer bottle. "Thou may'st remember the Black Death? I hast relatives die from it. I can'st remember sewing my youngest brother Joseph into a sheet, and lev..." (she hiccuped) "...levitating him into his tomb, and bricking it over." She was silent, they heard the squeaking of the chain drive, rotating the meat over the coals. "I doth remember thinking that my life, my future, was as cast in stone, that I would'st be married off, to produce enough children that hopefully some would'st survive, and that was my lot in life. Aye, that I was't fortunate indeed to be educated beyond what girls ordinarily received, and that I would'st take full advantage o' this opportunity to learn."

"I feel so... blessed in comparison," Karen said.

"Thou doth be," Anne replied. "Still, I am profoundly grateful that thou has't taken me into thy family, despite my odd ways to thee," and she grinned. "How doth the chicken fare?"

"Let me look..." Karen said, jumping up, as Chantal asked, "What are you working on?"

"'Tis a def... defen... (hic) mil'try." Anne said. "We doth be concerned with def... controlling ships coming in and out." Turning to a fresh page of her notebook, she drew a crude diagram of the solar system (her quill only wobbling a little), adding, "We doth not desire them in the inner system, but outside the ab... absteroid belt."

"Abstroitly," Chantal replied with a grin. "How do ships come in?" She gestured with her hands, "Above or below the ecil-liptic?"

"Both," Anne replied, fetching fresh beer. "Show me how you..."

"Put your thumbs there," Chantal leaned forward as Karen watched over her sister's shoulder, arranging Anne's fingers. "Then push up!"

The caps popped off, they cheered, clicked bottles together and drank, Anne remarking, "'Tis no such thing as useless knowledge."

"Absobibly," Chantal agreed.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So the ships come through a tunnel," Chantal said, "all mark... marked up with boys," and she giggled.

"Aye," Anne agreed. "The problem doth be produc... (hic) producing the mines in subficient quan... quan... numbers. We need billibions of them."

"No, you don't," Chantal disagreed. "You need people to _think_ you have them." She weaved slightly, holding up her hamburger and her beer bottle, and moved the two around. "A ship comes in, a bob tells them to stay in the tunnel, otherwise they go boom. If they don't, if they leave the tunnel, a second bob-bob-bob yells at them, an' the subspace thing tracks them."

"G'wan," Anne said, sipping at her own beer.

"Y' wanna _capture_ Mr. Pirate," Chantal said. "Not blow him into ittle-bitty pieces. So he's crossed th' line an' ignored two warnings. Y' vector some mines in on him, tha' he'll detect. If he goes chicken brak-brak-brak an' goes back across th' line, tha' good. Don' have ta kill nobody, an' you have shombody talk ta' him later."

"If he doth not be brak-brak chicken? If he doth decide to run for it?"

"Either way, tha' good," Chantal said. "If he leaves, he's gonna tell all his little pirate buddies that we've got a minefield, an' tha' good. If he tries ta come in, he's gonna go slow, cause he's in a minefield, an' y' intercept him wi' some mines." She took a last gulp of beer, and looked owlishly down the bottle. One of the watching (and listening) FBI agents set fresh bottles out, and Karen popped the tops with her thumbs. Chantal waved her bottle in thanks, continuing, "I saw Wayne's interview th' other day, wi' tha' dishy Kent guy. She mentioned drive coils, all y' gotta do is short out those coils wi' something conductive an' then blow the hull." She took a drink, "Whass the hull made of?"

"Steel alloy," Anne replied, weaving slightly. "'Tis only case-hardened, the main defense doth be the shields, and doth need a powerful explosive there." She gestured in air, "What we hath been working on, once produc... man... problems in making it." She picked up a gnawed-over ear of corn, pulling off a kernel, "'Tis this size," and popped it in her mouth.

"How big a boom-boom?" Chantal slurred.

"Thou must have a pure vacuum," Anne declared. "'Tis why we are building production on Farside." She weaved a bit, "Quark (hic) is a good boom boom. Shisty mega-booms boom-boom."

"Anne!" Karen said. "Ishn't tha' a secret?"

"Shhhhh!" Anne said, finger across her lips. An MI-6 agent and an FBI agent edged out to the street, where phones were dialed.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Agent Perkins, sir," the FBI agent said tersely. "Sorry to bother you on a weekend, but we have news about Arrowhead and the Guard. They're working on a minefield in the Kuiper Belt... no, sir, that's outside Neptune's orbit. No sir, it doesn't sound like they want foreign ships inside the asteroid belt. No, sir. No, the girl didn't say anything about nukes. They're using something with quarks. No, sir, that's a sub-atomic particle. Yes, sir, apparently they have production problems, they need a perfect vacuum." He listened, "No, sir, on the Farside of the moon. I would presume underground, sir." He listened, "No, sir, as I said, it's not a nuke. Not. A. Nuke, sir. (He rolled his eyes.) Sir, I have no idea how CIA can penetrate their operation, if they haven't already. No, sir, we'd have to use their transportation network. Sir, unless you can authorize restarting the Apollo program, that's the only way to get there. No, sir, much smaller. No, sir, she pulled a kernel of corn off an ear. About the size of a pea, sir. Yes, sir." He took a breath and held it, "Sixty megatons."

He held the phone away from his ear for a minute. "Sir? Sir? SIR! Yes, sir, calm down. No, sir, we got her drunk. Sir, think this through. I would strongly advise against an arrest. Sir, she hasn't done anything! Sir, I'm sure Wayne has contingency plans for that. No, sir, all they would need is a thermos bottle. As I said, sir, we would need to restart the Apollo program. No, sir, out of Ecuador, a day or so to get there."

He listened to his boss for a moment, then said, "Sir, I would strongly suggest making Wayne happy. No, sir, her psych profile agrees with her statements, she does not like to kill." He waited, "Sir, you might want to re-read the profile in Wayne's file. No, sir, I doubt that she would, she would regard it as murder, it would horrify her. Only if she regarded it as her duty, or if we spill blood, _which we already have, sir_. No, sir, I doubt very much she trusts us, look..." he waited, "...sir, look at the precautions she's taken with Bundy's safety. I'm certain she's made other preparations that we don't know about."

He listened to his boss again, "Sir, she's a bit of an idealist, she expects people to keep their word. No, I'm certain she knows what _realpolitik_ is, she's had some excellent tutors. No, sir, she regards it as a contract, you negotiate and then you sign, and you live up to the contract." He waited again, "Sir, look at things from her perspective. Her mother country has kidnapped, imprisoned and tried to kill her, and has killed someone she considered a blood relative. Would _you_ trust the US Government in that situation?" He waited again, "Sir, I'm just suggesting we do a little fence-mending. She's said publicly that she wants to contract with US companies and universities, but she's not going to bend on that. Two things, sir. First, pass that damned treaty through the Senate. Isn't it stonewalled in committee, sir? Then I suggest leaning on a few Senators to make sure it passes by a veto-proof margin. I have no idea, sir, but I'm not a physicist, it could be something she learned off-world."

He waited again, "Aside from whatever pork gets tacked onto it, it won't even cost us anything." He rolled his eyes, "No, sir, I would NOT tell the Senators about that. Because it will leak, and it will just piss her off. Sir, if you piss her off enough, we know she's already overthrown at least one government. No, sir, I'm not talking about the French, although I wouldn't be surprised she had a hand in that." He listened, "The second thing is Cuba. She's tight with Fidel, by all reports. Well, then, sir, I would respectfully suggest that SECSTATE hop on a plane and fly down to Havana to negotiate a deal with him. Well, we do it with the Red Chinese and the Vietnamese, why not the Cubans?" He waited a minute, "Sir, then we put in a rider to an appropriations bill that cancels out those parts of Helms-Burton and Torricelli Acts. Sir, to put it baldly, which is more important, keeping a few thousand Cuban agitators with a forty-year old grudge happy, or someone like Wayne happy, that can turn Miami into glass?"

Once again, he held the phone away, brought it close, then waited again. "No, sir, I don't think she would, but it's a hell of a lot cheaper to keep her happy." He waited again, "Sir, think it through. She doesn't have to use them. She can drop a rock, and after this administration tried to kill her, and did kill her uncle, I'm amazed she hasn't. Ten kilotons is the figure I've heard. No, that would definitely break a few windows in the DC area." He waited a minute, "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir, we'll keep an eye on her. Yes, sir. Have a nice day." He thumbed the kill switch, muttered, "Idiot!" and turned to face his British counterpart. "Orders?"

"Protect the national asset. Yours?"

"Observe and report. No arrests, thank god." He took a few steps and tapped a wooden telephone pole twice.

"Agreed," the MI-6 bloke said, touching the same pole. "I could use a drink myself, after that little bombshell."

"Hopefully not literally," the FBI agent said. "Do you think Wayne's likely to drop... something?"

"Not according to our profiling," 'Six' replied. "She's a chess player, as well as, from what I've heard, a bloody good poker player. She's said she wants you Yanks in the Arrowhead coalition, why haven't you yet?"

"Politicians," was the sardonic reply. "Pork for the home district, it's been stuck in committee."

"Lovely, '_Veritas in Vino'_," 'Six' replied, and gestured. "Shall we?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So..." Chantal asked later. "Get something useful?"

"Yes," an FBI agent said. "Don't worry about your sister. Charges dropped, justifiable homicide, self defense from her husband."

"She gets a clean slate?"

The older woman nodded. "We'll even throw in witness relocation."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
Eridani space, orbital queue, **__McCoy__**: 13:18 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you for calling us, it is our good fortune that you noticed our ship on the arrivals board," Captain Senyavin said.

"Credit should properly go to Mr. MacDonald," Captain Watson replied from the _Scythe_. "You have received our daily reports whilst we were on Windfall and the other planets."

People looked at each other along the table, when Mattie cleared her throat, "We received some reports, yes, but certainly not daily ones." She reached down to pull open her datapadd, paging through it, "The last one I have from you regards an attempted takeover by a Mr. Markos, none since then."

"Mr. MacDonald?" Captain Watson asked. Frank's image in a window frowned, "Sir, I sent them out, and I have receipts for all of them."

"Automated, or live receipts, Mr. MacDonald?" Piotr asked, adding, "I am Guard Counter-Intelligence."

"Automated on all of them, sir, and additional manual receipts from some of them, sir. I figured that some of the watch officers didn't bother, the automated ones were good enough." He paged through his own display, nodding to himself.

"We have a bit of a mystery, then," Piotr said. "Mr. MacDonald, if you would be so kind as to touch base, privately, with a colleague of mine on Eunomia, Alex Rapp, and say that I, Piotr, referred you."

"I will do that, sir, would you like me to forward my messages to you?"

"Please do so, Mr. MacDonald," Captain Senyavin asked.

Arthur leaned forward, "Excuse me, but Piotr, would it be of use to have Lady Sarah, from the Oversight Board involved?"

He thought for a moment, "Yes, it might. If you could have her discreetly touch base with my friend?"

Arthur nodded, "I will, and I apologize for interrupting, Captain, I thought that might be useful."

"If it helps to clarify this communications shortfall, it is agreeable, Mr. Morton," the burly Russian captain said. "In the interim, please give us a short report on what has been happening..."

Watson nodded, "We left Eunomia in early April, with some of the Spider agents disguised as slave girls..."

"One moment, please," Gloria Alvarez said, leaning forward. "Spider agents? Disguised as slave girls?" She looked down the table, "Anyone know about that?"

"I didn't," Mattie said. "A brief background, please, Captain."

"Yes..." Watson 'harrumphed' to himself, "In brief, the Spider project is designed to..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
Eridani space, outbound, **__Scythe__**: 12:28 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you for staying over your watch, Mr. MacDonald," Captain Watson said. "Do you wish to stand down, or see us home?"

"Sir, if I might have five minutes, I'd like tae check on m' girl. She was usin' th' teachin' chair this watch, then I'd like tae see her home."

"Very well, Mr. MacDonald, it will take us that long at least to clear the system. Helm, if you would, please?"

"Yes, master," 22809 said with a grin from the helm.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Saturday, June 15, 2002:  
Terran space, inbound, **__Scythe__**: 13:31 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Master, we're picking up a buoy," 22809 said.

"Let's hear it, then," Captain Watson said. The girl flipped a switch, and they heard a young woman's voice in Trade:

"_Warning, do not deviate from marked flight path in system. Other areas are off limits, Arrowhead Investments, Ltd. will not be held liable for destruction and death of ship, crew and cargo. Warning, do not deviate from marked..." _

* * *

"Seems fairly clear," the Captain said. "Do not deviate, my dear, and proceed on."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"_Scythe_, we have you on approach," the collared girl said on the screen. Captain Watson leaned forward, "My dear, please look up code yellow 25 gamma."

"Yes, master," the girl replied, keying her computer. She nodded to herself, "Master, I am to place you in the secure section, and the J-2 officer needs to see you. Accommodations are available, how many will you require?"

* * *

Watson harrumphed, "Total of fifteen, three singles, six doubles."

* * *

"Yes, master," the girl replied. "Please transfer helm to docking control. You are assigned..." she looked at her console, "Bay twelve in the secure section. Security will meet you, please don't leave your ship until they clear you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

Watson harrumphed, the security blokes were getting obnoxious. He re-entered his ship, going to the common room. Mr. MacDonald had the crew assembled, waiting for him.

* * *

"Very well, welcome to the Terran system and Eunomia base. There are fifteen of us, we have arranged for six double cabins for all of you, and three singles for myself, Ms. Woosan, and Mr. MacDonald. As you know, slavery is illegal in this system, but not on this ship, which carries a different registration. Therefore, what we shall be doing is this." He nodded to Frank, who started to pass around a basket. "The necklaces contain, in a glass tube, your collar's control chip and the key to your belt, if applicable. Ms. Diijon is not included, she already possesses these items. Please take yours and pass it on." He waited, sipping his tea until the empty basket came back around.

* * *

"Thank you. For the ladies in a common collar, what shall happen is this. In a few minutes, you will take a step off the cargo ramp, where I, as master of the _Scythe_, shall declare you surplus to ship's need. Ms. Diijon will give you your title, and I shall wish you the best." He held up his hand. "The ladies in a judicial collar will also be declared surplus, and will also receive title to themselves, and my best wishes. The three of us will then escort you to your quarters, we ask you to stay in them for three days, with no other contact than ours."

* * *

"Why, master?" 22007 asked.

* * *

"I will tell you, m'dear," Watson said, then took a sip of tea. "After three days, you will all go before the court here, in two separate groups. The common-collar ladies will petition the court for their freedom, which will be granted, along with a kilo of tungsten." He raised a hand, "This is not a lot of money, nor will your collar be deactivated or your belt removed, however there are quite a few freed females here, and on our home world in that situation. There is a waiting list here for that procedure, you may join it whilst you seek employment, or may consider the offer I shall make you."

* * *

"Offer, master?"

* * *

"Yes, we have a resettlement programme for rescued slaves, this allows them to be adopted into a family, go to school... some of the younger ladies might wish to do so. Once you are at that point, the _Scythe_ will offer you a contract position, as crew, paid Guild rates to an account here."

* * *

He swiveled in his chair, "The ladies with judicial collars are different, you will individually go before a judge, explain why you received that collar, and what your punishment is. Should the judge decide to annul your conviction, you will receive a chip, we shall then change you to a common collar. Should the judge not annul your conviction, they will pronounce a sentence duration that we would impose for that crime. We shall then change your collar to expire at that point, and revert to a common collar. In either case, should you have a common collar, you may also petition for your freedom, as discussed."

* * *

J'lan leaned forward, "Master, I was convicted of heresy, freed, then Markos, and I was re-collared..."

* * *

"Heresy is not a crime here, m'dear, you may speak to a judge if you wish."

* * *

"Master, I was convicted of tax fraud," 'Mac' said.

* * *

Watson raised his hand, "I am not the judge. Let us say that you committed a crime for which we would sentence you to... ten years. You have worn a judicial collar for eight. We would program your collar and implant to expire your judicial collar in an additional two years, at which point you would wear a common collar."

* * *

"What is the offer you are making, master?" 22007 asked.

* * *

He tented his fingers, "As you may know, the _Scythe_ is an intelligence ship, we are tasked with supplying various installations. As the ship is registered as a slave ship, should you choose this, to the galaxy at large, you will be a crew-slave, owned by the ship. To us, you will be a paid, free shipmate who happens to wear the ship's collar."

* * *

47283 looked at Pamela, then said, "Master, to clarify, I would be a free, contracted shipmate, paid Guild rates, but have the _appearance_ of wearing the ship's collar." She mused, "Why wait the three days?"

"You are declared as Surplus to Need, but you are not yet free," Watson said. "Therefore, another ship may claim you as their slave, and if the ship is registered outside this system, you would belong to them. This is why we have the waiting period, if at the end of that period you are unclaimed, you may then appear before the court."

"There's a wait tae get on the court's calendar," Frank said. "At least three days, so it works out. Then we walk y' tae the court, y' make y' case tae the judge, an' we go from there."

"As I am Enhanced, I would be wearing a collar in any event," Bones said. "By wearing the ship's collar, I gain the protection through the ICC against slave theft, and I am paid and regarded as a free female." She asked Watson, "The court knows of the ship's purpose?"

"They do. Should we have a guest aboard, you would need to..."

"Play a slave," Pamela said. "This is why you were insistent on our gaining names?"

"Partially," Watson replied. "'Names are also easier to remember." He stood up, "Mr. MacDonald, Ms. Diijon, Ms. Woosan and I shall wait for you on the cargo ramp for you to discuss this," and he exited.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What do you think?" 'Mac' asked. "It sounds too good to be true," she admitted.

"They are rather vehemently against slavery," 74001 said. "I was recollared when I had training software installed, this was not their fault. They have offered to have it removed, to free me when I wish, I just..." she shuddered. "It was not a pleasant experience."

"I remember that," J'lan said. "Frank blamed himself, and I don't see how he could. They were willing to go up against the Slaver's Guild for that, they see owning a slave as immoral."

"Which explains their earlier attitude toward me," Pamela said, adding, "I was a slaver myself."

"You were lost to the Source until you helped us with Markos," J'lan said. "There's still some carry-over feeling about that with Mistress Sandra."

"I collared her, it's personal," Pamela admitted. She looked at the younger girls, "What do you think? A home, a family, school... At your age, I would think it attractive."

"Somewhat..." 22809 said. "I admit, a month ago I would never have dreamed I'd have this conversation, I'd be slave for the rest of my life. But... I like these Terrans. I'm a person, not a collar to them."

"I know," 22416 agreed. "I can remember my Inspection slave hoping I could get a dark collar." She tugged at hers, "I said I'd keep my master's secrets, any one have problems with keeping our ship's?"

"No," Mac said. "I want to visit their home world, but even if I leave, I keep their secrets. As you said, I'm a person, not a collar to them, and they need me."

"How long is leave?" J'lan said. "Frank said this is the start of their summer season, I'd like to see more of it, and what the people are really like."

"That's a good idea," Pamela said. "See what they are really like, then sign on the ship." She looked around, "Anything else before we see the Captain?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Master," Pamela said, addressing the Captain. "Your slaves had a few questions before we leave the ship."

"Certainly," he replied.

"First, master, we'd like to see your home world before making our decisions, but even if we decide against returning, we keep our ship's secrets." He nodded, and she continued, "Second, we'd like to know how long leave is, and financing, master."

Frank looked at Watson, "I dinnae know aboot you, sir, my family has a farm in Scotland. We dinnae have that much guest space, though."

"Master Frank," J'lan said. "We'll be happy with your barn, as long as it's out of the weather."

"Lassie," Frank replied, "Barns are f' animals an' machines, y' be neither."

Watson harrumphed. "We should have a month of leave, we can arrange travel documents. I shall look into an advance on wages should you decide to sign with the ship. If you make another decision, the funds would need to be paid back, of course, and I have a townhouse in London. Only good for six or so."

"I know people wanted tae talk tae Mac, let me see what I can arrange there," Frank said. "One, did y' go an' get everyone's basic skills tested wi' th' teachin' machine?"

"Let me get that information for you, master," and she disappeared back inside the ship as Pamela asked, "Master, do you need help unloading cargo?"

"That is arranged, m'dear, but thank you. Any other questions?" The girls looked at each other, then Watson said, "Please line up, we shall declare you, then stand next to Mr. MacDonald and Ms. Woosan." He looked at his datapadd, "47283, let's start with you." The petite, magenta-skinned slave stood in front of him, "Slave 47283, as Master of the _Scythe_, I declare you excess to ship's needs. Please return all ship's property and depart the ship immediately."

"Yes, master," she replied, pulling off the ship's tunic she wore, folding it and tossing it aside. She re-arranged the necklace with her control chip, fluffing out her hair, then took a step to stand in front of Diijon. "I have returned all ship's property, mistress, and am ready to depart the ship."

"The title to your collar, slave," she replied, signing her datapadd, and ejecting the chip. The slave replied, "Thank you, mistress," and took a step off the ship, standing next to Frank, who gave her a quick hug as she bounced a bit for joy. Mac joined her in a minute, the two girls squealing in joy, then group-hugging Frank.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


	2. 16 30 June, 2002

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
2: 16 - 30 June, 2002_**  
Sunday, June 16, 2002:  
Eunomia, secure quarters, Yellow 42: 10:03 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mac stumbled to the comm, yawning, "Good morning, master," she replied.

"Good mornin' tae y', lassie," he said, echoing her yawn, then shaking his head. "How be m' two favorite engineerin' lassies t'day?"

"In need of tea, master," 47283 said over her room-mate's shoulder. "We didn't get much sleep last night, I was on the comm trying to think of a name."

"Nae easy, is it?" he said with a chuckle. "What I do is start from th' last two digits o' y' collar number, which is..."

"Eighty-three, master."

"'Tis right, thank y'. Th' eighty-third element is..." he walked away for a minute, they could see him digging in his bag. "Ah!" he said, finding whatever he was looking for, and came back. "Th' eighty-third element is bismuth, a metal as I recall." He started thinking and muttering to himself, then looked up, "Lassie, how about Billie, or Bella, or Brittany? Three ladies I know wi' those names, if it helps."

"It does, master, and thank you," she said.

"Nae, f' a clan name, what some girls are doin' is takin' th' last three digits o' their number, as slaves, y' be one o' th' largest clans in th' galaxy." He gestured, "Y' decision. Th' reason I called, though, is tha' we have some more information for y'. Can y' be ootside y' a' ten-thirty? We'll escort y' tae th' meetin'."

"We'll be there, master," Mac said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Is everyone here, Mr. MacDonald?" Watson asked. Frank counted noses, the said, "Aye, sir."

"Good. Ladies, we have arranged the use of a small conference room. This will allow you to get together and discuss things. Those of you without a personal name will be able to pick one, your financial and travel documents will require one. Does anyone need anything from their cabins?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We shall be having a guest shortly, who will give you information on etiquette, which is clothing and appropriate behavior," Watson said. "For now, you may use the white tunics, we shall have breakfast served in addition to the tea. For now, please take the datapadd with your number. This is our proposed contract, please do not sign it until you have read it and resolved your status with the court. There is a comments page for your notes, and I shall be most happy to discuss it with you."

"Clothing, master?" one of the girls asked nervously.

"Also speech," he said. "What you use here would not be acceptable there." There was a tone from the door, and Frank got up to let the contractor with the steam carts in.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Female clothing," the instructor said, pointing to her mannequin. "Starts next to the skin, with two items, _panties_ for the pelvic area, and a _brassiere_, also known as a _bra_, for the support of the breasts."

"We'll leave you and check on things later," Watson said, rising to leave with Frank.

"You're leaving us, master?" one of the girls asked.

"Er, yes, have to," he cleared his throat, "Check on things. An hour?" he asked the instructor.

"Best make it two," she said, and the two men escaped. The girls looked nervous, and Sandra smiled, "Men become uncomfortable with this subject," she confided.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

As they walked back to their temporary quarters, the newly named Brittany saw where Master Frank was walking ahead, and said quietly, "It is strange that they have so many places where we must be covered head to toe."

"And not even for climate reasons. For religious, moral and social reasons," Mac replied while tugging at her left cup in an attempt to get the underwire to fit more comfortably.

Noticing her roommate's struggles, Brittany said, "We're almost back to our room. You can remove it then."

"No. If I am going to Master Frank's farm, I must learn to live with the discomfort."

"Why?"

"The sooner Master Frank sees me as a free female, the sooner he can consider me as someone he can mate without guilt," Mac replied as they reached Yellow 42.

J'lan overheard this, and replied, "He is indeed an attractive male, but he unfortunately views us not only as shipmates, but as siblings, younger sisters, and his ethics do not permit him to take any of us. It is indeed frustrating."

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Sunday, June 16, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port, Private bay 1240, **__McCoy__**: 12:33 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

Mike Asher waited, somewhat nervously. It had only been a few hours since the _Scythe_ had left, and now here they were, hosting another ship. "Grand Central here," he said softly, and the young Japanese 'slave' next to him, Akane, giggled softly. "Yes, master." She looked up, "I believe, master, the correct term is: 'De plane, de plane!'"

* * *

"Well, then you should go greet it, silly girl," he told her, and she grinned, "Yes, master!" She groveled in his direction, and he waved her on, mindful of their nosy neighbors in 1238, eighty meters away. She ran over to where the docking umbilicals were racked as the pilot aligned the ship with the index marks painted on the wall. Akane lifted off the connecting plate, standing inside the safe zone where the pilot could see her. The ship settled to the ground, the landing gear lowering along with the forward gangway, the hydraulics compressed, and the pilot waved Akane in. Mike watched as she reached up to connect the umbilicals, he could see her slap the locking levers and flip up the plastic weather cover on the wall to hit the button. Lights changed on the connecting plate, the pilot gave a 'thumbs up', and started to shut down as Akane placed the first set of wheel chocks.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"I apologize, Mr. Asher, but the Spider program is coming at me rather cold." Mattie said in the conference/dining room. "We hadn't been briefed on it, and I would have been quite a bit more upset..."

* * *

"To put it mildly..." Sprink said softly.

* * *

Mattie glanced at her, "Yes, to put it mildly. I will want to interview the girls, and get their input, but we're already running several hours late. It was fortunate that we caught the _Scythe_ outbound."

* * *

"I understood that you were not briefed on sources or methods," Mike Asher said.

* * *

"True, but there is a definite political factor in this," Arthur said. "Frankly, with Mattie's rather vehement crusade against slavery, to have it be known that she's enslaving people, even falsely..." he waved his hand.

* * *

"Would be a political disaster," Pansy Parkinson said. "Objectively," and Mattie shot a glance at her. "Objectively, Mr. Asher, even if you could give us the Secrets of the Universe, the fact that you have slave girls, no matter what their actual status, hurts us. We have to find a way to spin this, even if we were to close your shop today and ship everyone home, it would leak and cause damage."

* * *

"On the other hand..." Piotr said slowly. "On the other hand, this may be turned to our advantage." He looked down the table, "Let me sit down with some of our more politically astute people, keep the communications blackout intact for now. Let us consider the matter fully and objectively, aside from the emotional factors. What is next on the agenda?"

* * *

"Banking," Mr. Jamie Burnet said. "We must arrange the lines of credit to buy the ships and their associated accounts, I need to research what is required to associate Gringotts with Lantern Bank, and several people need to set up personal accounts. That should consume the rest of the day."

* * *

"Then let's get that going, and table the rest of the agenda for tomorrow," Pansy said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Y'know," Elena confided to her brother, "I expected an alien planet to look more, well, alien." She nodded out the window of the quietly humming electric bus, "Blue skies, white clouds, green grass..."

"The only thing that's alien are the people," Arthur agreed quietly, glancing toward the front of the bus, at the driver, a slave wearing a powder-blue tunic with yellow trim and light blue lights on her collar. Her dusky red skin didn't clash with her outfit, instead her light blue hair matched her tunic. Behind her, a four-meter felinoid sat on a bench not really designed for its species, but it wasn't complaining.

The driver pulled into a landscaped, tree-shrouded bus stop, and touched the small earpiece she wore. "Government center, masters and mistresses. Government center stop." She touched it again, and hummed a tune to herself as she watched her mirrors, fingers tapping along on her steering yoke. Mattie stood, and Arthur stood, along with the rest of their party. Arthur stopped for a minute, politely gesturing for the felinoid, who nodded it's head politely, "Thank you, gentlebeing."

"My pleasure, gentlebeing," he replied, and got a tail-flick in reply.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Um, Arthur, where's our tungsten, our cash?" Elena asked.

"I'm sorry, I thought I told you. When we set up our accounts, Mattie will transfer two hundred kilos each into them, and we'll leave the metal we brought for the two ship's cash accounts. They'll go in each Captain's safe. We get a better interest rate, and we don't have to schlep around all that metal."

"Ah, makes sense," she said as they followed one of their local 'slaves' toward a white and green building. Arthur said, "Reminds me of Gringotts in a way."

"Mostly underground?" Mr. Burnet asked from Elena's other side. "Goblin architecture, Mr. Morton. Tuck things underground, keep them safe." He rubbed his hands, "Oh, this should be fun!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, Ms. Wayne, fancy seeing you here." Mattie turned from charging her Ring (the icon on top changing from one miniature lantern to two), and replied, "Mr. Rayner. How are things?"

"Same old, same old. Go out for a drink later?"

"Taken, Mr. Rayner," (she wiggled her left hand). "Nothing personal, I'm not too thrilled with the Guardians at the moment." She turned, "Arthur, this is Mr. Kyle Rayner. Kyle, this is my intended, Arthur Morton and his sister, Elena."

"A pleasure," Kyle said, shaking hands as he ran through a mental index. He somewhat remembered Arthur from Steel's party a few years earlier, but he didn't know what the sister knew, so he kept it vague. "How long will you be on planet?"

"We're buying some ships," Arthur replied. "Probably another few days."

"Well, then, I'll let you get to it. A pleasure, everyone," and he walked off. Arthur looked at his sister, and snapped his fingers in her face. "Elena? Hello, Elena?"

She shook herself, "Sorry, it's just, wow, a Lantern!"

"Well, now, let's get things going," Mattie said calmly, and walked over to the service desk. "Good day, gentle, I have some business to conduct," and put her right hand with her Ring in the scanner field. The banker looked at his screen, and almost fainted. "One moment, noble Lantern, one moment, please!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Akane waited, she had neck-ringed and bound herself under the tree with other slaves, as she was temporarily 'unaccompanied' the local law required this. She was regretting the extra cup of tea she had for breakfast, she needed to be suctioned, but it wasn't painful yet. While she waited, she listened to the local gossip of the other slaves, she hoped to run into some of her contacts here. She saw Master Morton and his sister emerge from the bank and look around, she called, "Master! Master Morton!" They re-oriented and saw her, and Mistress came over.

"There you are, Akane!" she said, while studying the release for the neck ring. At least she was a decent actress. She pulled the lever while pulling on the ring, and Akane eased her neck out with a "Thank you, mistress. Is your business concluded?" She stood as Mistress eased the strap of her shotgun on her shoulder, then suggested, "Mistress, might I be watered?" when Mistress appeared at a loss.

"I'm a bit thirsty too," she replied, taking the hint and walking toward the fountain where her brother waited. Akane followed behind, quietly informing her, "Mistress, drink from the water jets, drinking from the basins is regarded as a social _faux pas_. As I am a slave, and thus lower socially than you, it is acceptable for me to do so." She knelt next to the fountain, "On a warm day such as today, it is acceptable to dunk your slave into the lower basin to cool her off. It is also a courtesy to other slave's owners to water and suction their slaves when they are bound as we are."

"You want me to dunk you? You'll get wet."

Akane nodded, "Yes, mistress, that's the idea. I'll dry off." She looked around, "If Mistress and Master would release the other slaves I was confined with for watering, they can avoid one of the more objectionable local..." she hesitated, "...characters."

"Who?" Master asked, looking around, then said, "Oh, the grungy guy with the tricycle?"

"Yes, master," Akane said. "He has a habit of not bathing, and groping the girls. I would appreciate it, master." She looked up at Mistress, who shrugged and dunked her in the lower basin.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

She had watered, dunked, and suctioned the other slaves; Akane knelt before the bench that Master and Mistress occupied. Master leaned forward, "Okay, a bit of explanation, please."

"Master," Akane started quietly. "Yes, I know you object to the term. However, we are in public, on stage, and we did warn you that we would be slaves to you." She tossed her wet hair back, "Planetary laws are different. Normally, as a slave, I cannot enter a financial institution, or handle money, unless my owner purchased a license for me, or I belong to a registered merchant, which I do not. I must be bound when not carrying something. If I am unaccompanied by a free person, as I was when you were in the bank, I must be confined unless on a task, which is why I placed myself where I did. Had I not, one of the Port Guards would have done so, and this way I could choose my spot." She grinned at them, "Not quite what you expected, is it?"

"No, it's still objectionable, still _wrong_," the young Master said, quietly but emphatically.

"It's a social code, master," Akane replied, rolling her eyes. "Like women covering their breasts, or men with a beard. We're simply conforming to that code, and if anyone should object, wouldn't it be me?" She shrugged, "It's easier for me to go along, and since I'm covered as a slave..."

"What about the tail, and the belt and things?" Mistress asked.

"Mistress, under the Interstellar Commercial Code and planetary law, I must be visibly marked as a slave. This is my collar and lights, and depending on the weather, my yellow clothing. The ICC also recommends that I have a restraint device, which is my belt." She tugged at her cuffed wrists, "Practically, when a slave is collared, the default is to belt her as well, so it is effectively law. Where there is some variation is the bells." (She jiggled a bit to ring them.)

"The bells are also recommended for slaves that will be traded off-world by the ICC, mistress," the girl continued. "Like we are. The intent is to prevent a slave from sneaking up on her owner, so they've got some form of lock. In our case, we require a special screwdriver, but you'll also see slaves with bells on rings around their ankles, or elbows, whatever their owners preferred."

"Traded off world?" the young Master asked.

Akane looked around, "Master, a paper transaction. If I might answer that later?" Arthur nodded, and Akane continued, "Mistress, it is a lot more comfortable than wearing things like an underwire, or pantyhose in the summer."

"Oh, yes," Mistress agreed. "What about the tail?"

"Not required, just ornamental. I like it, myself, mistress, I think it looks nice with my hair." Akane tossed her hair again. "What's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"We need to start..." Arthur said, then stood and waved as Captain Senyavin and Hauptmann Gruber appeared from the bank. "Maybe we should move under a tree."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"This is a free port," Akane said. "There's really nothing outside the ICC that's forbidden or restricted, but it is taxed. The locals are growing their economy that way. For something that's restricted like pharmaceuticals or weapons, you can buy it legally, with a license, or illegally for more money." She cleared her throat, her thin white tunic was still damp and clinging to her, "I would suggest working up a list of your requirements, and let us work our contacts. As you know, one reason we're here is to learn about this port, we've got a good idea of who to go to to get just about anything." She smiled, "Why don't we walk through the market today, that will give you some ideas, and it is perfectly acceptable to haggle."

"What about crew, the Guild hiring hall?" Captain Komatsu asked.

"Your ship may come with a crew included, master, but I'll point it out to you." She looked around, "We're drawing attention, we'd best move on, and split up. Remember, home is private bay 1240, so you get off the bus at 1250 and walk a few hundred meters."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The young Mistress had gravitated to one of the clothing merchants, but she was going to make an error. Akane whispered to Elena, "Mistress, I would suggest you reconsider that item. It is slave wear, anything with the colour yellow is slave wear."

"Thank you," Elena replied quietly, holding the brief dress up to Akane, then shaking her head and tossing it back on the display. One of the shop slaves took a few steps, quickly refolding it for the display. She stepped back, asking quietly, "You've been a great help, see anything you want?"

Akane glanced around, "Not here, mistress, but thank you."

Elena nodded, then raised her voice, "Come along, slave."

"Yes, mistress," Akane replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"D'you have any higher capacity recorders than these?" Charlie asked the shop slave, showing her one of the small headset cameras their people wore. She rose up on her toes to check it, then said, "Oh, yes, master. Please come with me."

Arthur looked at the display of wrist computers, "How do you change the length of the day?"

"Master, the top is the galactic standard day. If your ship uses a different chronometer, you can reset that up to one thousand standard hours and increments." She demonstrated, "Also, master, you can set up to twenty standard time units, if your ship travels a standard route, you would just change the lower display to match the planet." She smiled at him, she was a cute blonde that reminded him of some of his house mates, "Also, master, with this small sensor, you can determine the purity and composition of a metal or mineral sample, it defaults to tungsten, of course."

"Of course," he replied. She was a nice girl, she seemed happy and didn't seem mistreated, but she wore a collar, she was a slave... "What about log recording and communications?"

"Master would get the communication settings from his ship, but aside from that, there is no problem." She craned to look at his small camera, "With a slightly more expensive model, master, we can link your camera to the wrist comp, and have it automatically feed to your ship's datastore."

"Now that's something I'd like," Charlie said. "How much for, oh, a dozen of those, and would you share commission?"

Both slaves giggled, "Master, we're slaves. We don't get commission, although we thank you."

"Ah, sorry," he replied. "The last planet I was on, the girls could earn one as an incentive."

"No, master, we're permitted to handle cash as part of our owner's business, but we're slaves, we can't own anything ourselves." She smiled at him, "Let me see, a dozen model 948 would be..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Pansy consulted a diagram, thankful that she had one of the translation implants. This was a good-sized market, the entire island covered about two hundred square kilometers, although that was mostly occupied with docking ports, residences, and privately owned docks like they had. She shook her head, and said to Captain Komatsu, "Let's see what ships there are, but we might need to start with a small shuttle or gig, if some of these are orbital. Once we have an idea of the cubage, we can look at the actual equipment. I think we'll need to come back tomorrow with one of the local slave girls."

"Don't forget housing for the crews, food, medical, all that," the Captain replied. "Let's call in, see if our neighbors have agreed to rent their docking bays for us to use." He took a step back, pulling out his comm.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Excuse us, please, gentlemen. Girl time. We want to have a private word with Ms. Wayne," Danielle said, shooing the guys out of the 'dormitory' and closing the door. She gestured to a bunk, "Ms. Wayne, please have a seat. We need to clear the air here." She folded her arms, then said, "You're upset that we're here, that you're a 'slave owner'. We're here to tell you that you're wrong."

* * *

She finally blew her stack, "How in the hell am I wrong? You're wearing slave collars that my people put on you!"

* * *

"If we had been forced into them, I'd agree," one of the girls said. "However, each of us were interviewed, and recorded, four different times. Before we boarded the ship, one of the officers, a Chinese girl shouted at us, she almost begged us to leave. The ship's Captain asked us a final time just before we were collared. We could have said 'no' at any of those six times."

"I didn't, and I'll tell you why," Danielle said. "We were approached so that we might be able to serve and protect our planet." She pointed at Captain Alvarez, "She does it, she wears a uniform." She gestured at some of the other girls, "They wear a uniform, they're in the Guard, they're serving. She leaned forward, tugging at her collar, "This is _my_ uniform. Yes, it's a slave collar. I may be marked slave and wearing a collar, but that's my uniform. I am not a slave because I'm paid, I have a Swiss bank account, my debts were paid off, I'm getting a nice little nest egg for my retirement, I'm as protected as I can expect, and I'm doing something valuable." She regarded Ms. Wayne, "You're thinking of shutting us down and shipping us back to Eunomia."

Mattie nodded, and Akane said, "Don't. Yes, we've only been here two months, but we already know a lot about the local merchants and politicians, we know who's honest and who will try to cheat you." She crossed her arms, "We are getting to know this port, which is our assignment. We're expanding our networks, getting to know who has good information, and for what. That's the idea behind this, we have access to information our 'masters' don't. When we combine the information, we'll have a good idea of what's going on here."

"But you're in danger!"

"Who isn't?" a heretofore silent girl said with a British accent. "You've got the people in the new ships, they could suffer a catastrophic leak or be blown up and die in space. Here, we're about as safe as you could expect." She leaned forward, "You're thinking we could be beaten, or stolen, or tortured?" Mattie nodded, the girl replied, "We could be killed in a car crash on the A9. You still get in a car and drive. For us, we have a tracking circuit in our collars," and she tapped hers. "It's designed to keep us from running away, but here we can be located anywhere in the city. If we're late checking in, we're reported as 'stolen', and the Port Guard finds and recovers us."

Akane said, "Ms. Wayne, you went out and did a walkabout this afternoon, did you see any, ANY violence toward a slave?" She regarded the visitors, "I was right there with you, I certainly didn't."

"What about in the slave market?" Mattie shot back. "There were girls, slaves chained there. Girls in cages, in stocks!"

"No, they are merchandise being displayed," Danielle snapped. "How do you expect slaves to be marketed? Take the emotion out."

"If you take the rose-colored glasses off!"

"LADIES!" Gloria said. She stood, glaring the two sides down. "You, Ms. Wayne, must admit that you did not see the continual abuse of slaves, and that treatment you saw is consistent with their ownership. Even you must admit there has to be some form of market." She turned to point a finger at the 'slaves', "You lot must admit that as your employer, she has a legitimate concern for your safety."

Danielle took a deep breath, "We have never denied that we are running a risk, but we consider it a reasonable, considered risk, with good odds in our favor." She crossed her arms, "Also, we have given our informed consent, we have volunteered to serve in this capacity, with this uniform."

Akane added, "Yes, Ms. Wayne, we may be randomly beaten. There are fairly long odds against that. You didn't see Howard this afternoon (the girls went 'Ewww!'), but Masters, at least here in this port, will keep an eye out for other slaves."

"Who is 'Howard'? Elena asked. "Is that the grungy guy?" Akane nodded, and Elena gave a shudder as well. "He's a really filthy, dirty guy that was coming on to the slaves that were waiting at the City park. Arthur and I didn't know what the etiquette was."

Danielle said, "Ms. Wayne, if someone looks out for my welfare, my master will look out for their slave. Yes, we may have certain social rules that apply to us as a class, but you do also." She put her hands on her hips, "Think of this as a caste system, if that helps. It's only common courtesy to suction slaves other than your own, or make sure they're watered. I don't see that as having rose colored glasses."

One of the other slaves said, "Ms. Wayne, let's take something you're concerned about. Let's say that Howard decided to start beating slaves. First of all, there are thousands of slaves resident in the port, like us, and more thousands coming and going on ships. Those are the odds against my being his victim. Second, should that happen, it is likely that a passing Master would detain that person for the Port Guard, and my master can recover damages from him. Now, as long as I'm careful in my behavior, and don't drink from the wrong level of the fountain, I'm just another slave among thousands in this city."

"Third," Danielle put in, "This is a spaceport. Slaves are not likely to be abused here because the lives of their shipmates depend on them, so their free shipmates are going to watch out for them, and by extension, others. There's too many things that can go wrong without looking for trouble." She leaned forward, "The next time you go walkabout in this port, or in another port on another planet, take a look and see how many people are wearing dark collars. That means there is social mobility." She folded her arms, "So, Miss Wayne. We've answered your objections. We're in this willingly, we're in no serious danger, and we're volunteers, doing productive work. I admit, I expected an alien planet to look more, well, alien, but that's all right. About the biggest problem has been to adjust to these smocks. Yellow is _so_ not my color."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"You've said your piece, now let me say mine," Mattie replied. "The end result of an operation does not always justify the means used to produce it. What about open source research? Looking things up in the library? Laser mikes, that kind of thing?" One of the girls started to reply, and Mattie held up her hand, "Let me finish, please. Because someone under my command enslaved you, with or without your consent, that makes me ultimately responsible. Frankly, I wonder about the sanity of the people connected with this project. I've already had one girl that was a volunteer slave, she was clearly not right in the head." She continued, "What will you think about this project when one of you is beaten to death? Stolen? Raped?"

"May we reply, _mistress_?" one of the girls replied acidly. "First of all, our security was designed into this project. As we've said, we are one of thousands of slave girls in this city. Those are the odds of something happening to us. We wear sealed belts, we cannot be anal or vaginally raped. Yes, we can be forced to give oral sex, or groped. (The girls shuddered.) Yes, we can be randomly killed by a master. However, the odds on that are thousands to one, and the Port Guard is very efficient. You saw them in the walkabout, how much street crime did you see?"

"I didn't see any in the market, not even a stolen apple," Elena said, and Mattie shot her a look.

The girl nodded, "Our location is monitored and tracked through the day, we have specific check-in times we must observe, and we must return for evening 'inventory' (she finger-quoted). Failure to do this will lead to a search for us, if only so our 'masters' can be billed for the expense."

"Secondly, mistress," another girl said, "What we have observed is girls just like us, going about their daily lives. They meet other girls, talk to them, deliver packages, other routine tasks. We talk about our day at night, to make certain our behavior matches norms."

"Regarding the library," she continued, "We have access to the local version of the Internet here. I'm sure that research is done, and I'm certain that some hacking goes on that way. We don't have need-to-know about that, and neither do you. Despite your personal grudge, our focus is not on WorkForce, it is to determine what goes on in this port. Arrivals, departures, cargoes, ships and crews. Slavers like WorkForce are not the largest, or the only slavers here. They are only one category of merchant, ones that deal with livestock."

"This is an open port, mistress," Akane said. She raised a hand, "You're familiar with the restrictions on various materials, well, the locals don't care about that. They buy and sell anything and everything here, from addictive drugs to missiles and weapons. All they care about are collecting their taxes. Think of it as a taxable black market." She crossed her arms, "Even though we've only been here two months, I'll say we can find everything on your list, or better, faster and cheaper than you can."

"How so, and what do you mean by 'better'?" Captain Alvarez asked.

"There are three groups, Construction, Transport, and Infantry," Akane said. "Each of them generates a Request for Quotation, as a business. You 'masters' work on one, we 'slaves' will produce at least two complete quotes. We trade them around, so we don't know which group authored which, and make a decision."

"Interesting," Pansy said. "What about the quality problem for lowest bidder?"

Elena spoke up, "We inspect it, but I'm sure that our 'slaves' (she finger-quoted), wouldn't recommend anyone that would produce crap. What kind of time frame are we looking at?"

"In-stock only, mistress, and close the deal by the end of the week?" Akane suggested. "What about payment?"

"We have a letter of credit through Lantern Bank," Pansy said, eyeing Mattie. "It sounds good to me. Break the RfQ down into Essentials, Nice-to-Have, and Options?"

"What about a crew?" Gloria asked.

"You deal with the hiring hall, we'll deal with the slavers," Danielle said. "Shall we agree on at least an Engineer and Healer, Class Three on each ship?"

"And if your bids are chosen?" Mattie asked.

"We win... You leave us be to do our jobs," Akane said. "If you win, you can do what you want with us, sell us, ship us home, whatever." Sprink inhaled sharply as Danielle leaned forward, "I've never walked away from a job, or a challenge, and this one is the greatest one of my life. I want to do it right."

"I don't see any problem about more than one bid," Mattie replied. "We'd probably need to work with some sort of double-blind system, though. Maybe Sprink and Pansy's groups trade off or something. However, you're wagering something you don't have against something I can't give you." She stood, and started to pace. "I am going to admit that the slavery thing is a hot button for me, it's very personal." She looked at Sprink, adding, "Cassidy," and Sprink nodded. She took a couple of deep breaths, "This hit me right between the eyes, if I had known about it, it wouldn't be such an emotional shock. Let's say that we'll see how things stand at the end of August, beginning of September. We've at least got those three months, and we'll figure out something to do if it hits the fan politically back home. We may _have_ to drag you back home..." and she took another deep breath. "Deal?"

"Deal," Danielle said, and offered her hand.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Right in here," Mike Asher said, holding the door open.

* * *

Arthur nodded his thanks, as Mr. Asher said, "Five, this is Mr. Morton, he needs to send a private email back home. He'll send at least one a day about this time. Mr. Morton, this is Five. She's officially our training slave and first girl. Unofficially, she's also something of a den mother and big sister to the girls, as well as our embassy comm officer. She's the only Enhanced girl here." Five stood, coming around the counter-top with the three LCD screens as Mike Asher left.

* * *

"Fair evening, master. I am 94305." Arthur looked at the golden-skinned redheaded slave as she continued, "Please connect your machine there at the end. Is your transmission encrypted?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Transmission complete, master," Five said, and Arthur nodded his thanks, closing down his laptop. As he was putting it in the case, he asked, "What do you think about this?"

* * *

"I volunteered for it, master," she replied, then got a far-away look in her eyes for a minute. She returned to herself, and smiled. "Master, I don't know what your security clearance is, Master Asher did not say. However, as the comm officer here, I do have a great deal of responsibility, people here trust me with their lives." She interlaced her fingers, resting her chin on them. "I confess, when I was first sold here, I wondered what I would do. However, every day is different, I do enjoy my work."

* * *

"You were sold here?" Arthur asked.

* * *

"Chipwork," she said dismissively, waving her fingers, then resting her chin on them again. "To confuse our competitors. The local authorities only care about collecting their taxes, so we pay their taxes. When a girl needs to go somewhere, we 'sell' her to the ship, when we have new girls come in, we 'buy' them from the ship." She finger-quoted, then balanced her hands, "One hand to another, master, all to generate the chipwork necessary."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"You know, these girls will be slaves for-real if someone screws up," Arthur said to Mr. Asher.

* * *

Mike Asher looked at the teenager, not quite sure about his actual authority. He knew from scuttlebutt that he was Wayne's finance, but what his clearances were... He decided to waffle a bit, "Mr. Morton, I'd like to know what your relationship is with Arrowhead and the Guard, please. I'd also like to know what the emails are about, and why we should break comm security for you."

* * *

"The emails are a daily report that the Queen asked me to send," Arthur replied. "Yesterday I mentioned the problems with reports not being forwarded, and the, um..." he paused, "...lack of information on certain programs. I said that I'd get more information and send it when I had it." He added, "I have been cleared by the Guard to Mattie's level of clearance, if that helps."

* * *

"It does. You do understand that I'm going to verify that," and Morton nodded as he continued. "Mr. Morton, we are well aware of the risks. We have gone over them, tried to anticipate and counter them. I would mention that this installation is not only for intelligence work, it is also for training. Not only for the 'slaves' (he finger-quoted), but also for us, their 'owners'." He swiveled in his chair, "Mr. Morton, we are all very new at this. Without going into details, part of my job here is to train the girls as intelligence agents, as well as to access the local culture in ways that they cannot. Similarly, they have access as 'slaves' that I do not. We are also aware that our installations are not exactly similar, there are something like four hundred billion stars in this galaxy, we've visited a couple hundred planets, with just as many different types of societies." He shifted in his chair, "No matter if they're feudal kings in castles to the Oans, they all have some kind of worker class. It doesn't matter if they're called serfs, or peasants, or slaves. You could argue that the Lanterns are the Oan's serfs."

"There is a difference between serfs, peasants and slaves," Arthur said.

Mr. Asher shrugged, "In Terran law? Maybe. Practically, not much. Here, and on most planets, slaves are a part of daily life. Now I admit that there are differences, depending on the local legal codes. I've talked to the girls that went off with the _Scythe_, and girls like Five."

"Why doesn't she have a name?" Arthur asked.

"She's happy with what she's got, ask her," Mr. Asher said, deciding to ignore the interruption. Morton muttered "Sorry," and Mike nodded. He continued, "Here at least, and apparently it's fairly commonplace, a slave is regarded as part of the family. They may say 'Master' instead of 'Father', but family structure does seem a bit more formal than I think you're used to, eh?"

"Canadian?" Arthur asked.

"From outside Toronto, and you're from the States, I believe?"

"Columbus, Ohio," Arthur said. "It's still wrong, the ends don't justify the means."

"Mr. Morton," Mike sighed, leaning back in his chair, "I will agree with you that there is, for us, a moral objection. I will also agree that I personally would much prefer not to use slaves." He regarded the teenager, "As I'm sure that you've been told by the girls themselves, they do not see themselves as slaves, and they do not fit the legal definition of slaves. They are covered as slaves, which is a completely different matter." He swiveled a bit, "Now, for the sake of argument, will you agree with me that slavery is part of the social structure, without passing a value judgment?"

"Reluctantly."

"And that, in different degrees, it is widespread and has been around for a long, long time?"

"That's what people have said, so I'll agree tentatively."

"Now then, Mr. Morton, again without passing a value judgment, as Terrans we seem to have a question. We can use the existence of this social institution, and go isolationist, or we can adjust ourselves to accept the existence of this social institution, develop our own way of dealing with it, and interact with the wider galaxy."

"But the buying and selling of slaves, of people, is just... _wrong_!"

"That, Mr. Morton, is a value judgment that we seem to be a minority on," and he raised a finger. "I didn't say I disagreed with you. Let's add one more factor in. Bearing in mind that this is all very new to us, in what seems to be a hostile, or at least a..." he mused a bit, "...a selfish galaxy." He reflected on that, "I think that's a good term, 'selfish'. Everyone is looking out for number one, whether it's personally, their clan, or their ship." He rocked one hand, "Eh, it can probably be improved on, but in any case, Mr. Morton, I will say that in our steps out into the galaxy, we need to be careful." Arthur nodded, "The best thing to do in that situation is to, as you Yanks say, 'case the joint'."

"We can't do that with a free staff?"

"In places with free societies, I'm sure we are," Mr. Asher said. "However, the society here is a slave society, and in order to fit in, we need to have personnel that can fit that society. I will tell you that I get different information on the same firms here in the port than the girls get."

He tented his fingers, resting his chin on his index fingers. "I have heard of planets where the only function of slavery is part of the judicial code. I have heard of planets where it is forbidden, and where it is even more widespread than here." He regarded the teenager, "In other words, Mr. Morton, we face a decision. We can either hide in the corner with a blanket over our heads and shut out the galaxy, or we can accept a seat at the table and play the game. We cannot, however, stride into the room and demand that since the game being played is not to our liking, everyone will change to one of our preference, if for no other reason that we lack the firepower to enforce it."

"I would almost prefer to hide under the blanket," Arthur said.

"The difficulty with that is the increased risk," Mr. Asher said. "The Chinese, the Japanese decided on isolation, and received rude surprises when their doors were kicked in. Were we to do so, Mr. Morton, innovation in the galaxy is not totally stagnant. One area in which it isn't is the military field. We had enormous difficulties standing off the Imperiex invasion, we lack the strength, again the firepower to keep someone from kicking our doors in." He sat up in his chair, "Mr. Morton, we have chosen to chart a middle ground. Returning to the metaphor of the card game, we are in the room, but in one of the spectator chairs against the wall. While the chair is uncomfortable, it is necessary to use it to keep an eye on the players." He circled his hand, "That is what we are doing here, keeping an eye on the game, and the players, in this room."

Arthur looked at Mr. Asher for a minute, then exhaled sharply. "I still don't like it..."

"Mr. Morton, none of us are turning cartwheels to either own, or be, slave girls. However, part of my responsibilities is ensuring, as far as I can, their safety. That is why I 'own' them (he finger-quoted again), so that I can address any incidents regarding them. This is why I maintain a log file of any 'official' notice of any of the girls, which has been minimal." He turned to his terminal, tapped in his password, then brought up a file, turning the monitor so Arthur could read it. There were only three entries, very minor incidents, the first a license fee had been posted late, and a minor fine had been assessed, with a link to the associated chipwork. The second was a report from one of the girls that she had been accosted by a drunk, the Port Guard had stepped in and filed a report, with the appropriate link, the third was a report by a girl that she had been reprimanded, and had her hands cuffed by a Port Guard. The last had a note in red on it: '_Nothing on this from Port._'

Arthur turned the monitor back, "What was the fine about?"

"Our fault," Mr. Asher said. "We got the fee in the day before it was due, but the Port goes by the date it's entered on their books, which was two days later, so it was late." He shrugged, "This is a learning experience for everyone. Since then, we've gotten things paid as soon as we receive the bill. The license itself was for our girls to handle money. The Port makes a lot of its income from taxes, licenses and fees, so there are a lot of them." He shrugged again, "Marisa is my XO, she tracks things like that day-to-day. With the license, it gives the girls legal permission to run around and pay bills and handle money, which adds to their cover."

Sighing, Arthur said, "I have no real objection to intelligence work, or to using covers of various sorts. It does help that the girls do seem to be volunteers, they are paid, and all that. However, I've got the job as Mattie's..." he waved his hand in thought. "Her touchstone, her anchor. For her, slavery is not an abstraction, it's personal. She had to rescue a close relative from slavery, from a collar." He sat forward in his chair. "I'm also concerned about what will happen when, not if, the fact that the Guard is using slaves leaks."

Mr. Asher grunted, "Mr. Morton, the Guard is not using slaves." He held up a hand to forestall his objection, "NOT. This company is a private firm, registered here on Eridani. Ever hear of a shell company like Air America?" He grinned. "I am sure that the Solar Guard, should they desire to open an office here, would not use slaves. Let's address a second point. Let's say that one of the scientific people decides to send an email home (he finger-quoted), and he says, 'Wayne's using slaves!' and he sends it to the _New York Times_. What happens?"

"Worst case?" Arthur asked. "Rioting in the streets, the revocation of the Letter of Marque that allows Mattie to operate as a British agent, her arrest, trial and conviction for enslavement and a massive backlash against all the development in space that's happened because of her. Followed by her death and the death of anyone publicly associated with her including my family, not to mention myself."

"Realistically?" Mike replied.

"In the last 13 months, I've been directly involved in a terrorist attack, indirectly in another and I've been kidnapped. Earlier this month, I was walking next to Mattie when somebody fired a grenade at us. And that's without Mattie being publicly outed as a slaver. So yes, very realistically."

Mike looked surprised at that. "Okay," he said after a moment, "Let's assume that the Times assigns it to a reporter, I would assume on their international desk." Arthur nodded, "Safe assumption."

"Now, that reporter is probably working on a number of different stories. Let's assume that it's a real hot-dog reporter like Lois Lane. Her first step is to call the Guard's publicity office, they issue a statement that the Guard has a resettlement program for slaves, but that's the only connection, and would she like information on that?"

Arthur chuckled, "I've met Ms. Lane, I can imagine what her reply to that would be."

"Okay, we're now at the _Daily Planet_," Mike said with a grin. "Ms. Lane does some digging, she may come up with a scrap here and there about Guard Intelligence operations, but nothing about slaves. She sets it aside until she can get more information, and works on something else."

"What happens if someone in London blows things wide open, spills the beans, the news comes out, 'Wayne is a hypocrite, she's trading in slaves,' that kind of thing?" Arthur asked.

"You mean if a politician gets hold of it?" Mr. Asher said with a snort. "I'd believe that of Congress, or the Canadian Parliament, but there's only a couple of our... of the Guard's Board of Governors that are cleared for Intelligence, and they know better." He waved his hand, "For the sake of argument, let's say they talk, and confirm everything. Front page, first week or so, it's a big story. Heads roll, people get fired, there's some public embarrassment. Third, fourth week, other news comes up, Congress raises taxes, a politician gets caught with a bimbo, and the Guard slavery scandal gets moved below the fold, or to an inside page."

Mr. Asher sat back in his chair, "Quite honestly, I think you're making a mountain from a molehill here. Slavery just doesn't get any press outside of a historical context. If Ms. Wayne hadn't made such a stink over it, been so emotional, you wouldn't be so worried. People are more concerned about local news, because it affects them directly. You care more about road work, property taxes and the local schools than what happens someplace far off. Think back a few months to what the news was. Which was more important, right then and there, local or international news?"

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 17, 2002:  
Cambridge, MIT Housing, 3**__**rd**__** floor showers: 06:22 (GMT -5)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"So how are you getting on?" Chantal asked as Anne washed her hair.

* * *

"S'trewth, I am having some difficulties," she said, turning to rinse and nodding over her head to the young fellow who had just claimed another shower. He tossed his towel over the tiled partition, hooked a mirror that dangled from a cable over the shower head, and turned the water on, humming to himself. He ignored the two naked, wet girls, soaping up a shaving brush. "What of thy sister?" she asked quietly.

* * *

"No charges, she's in witness protection," Chantal replied quietly, "You need to try this new conditioner, Kat made it," she said a little louder as the fellow extracted a safety razor from his bag and started to stroke his chin.

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 17, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port, Bay #516: 06:53 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"Half?" the small being squeaked in outrage. "The beast killed three of my crew! We had to tranquilize it, and now you offer half of what you said you'd pay?"

* * *

"I contracted for a living, breedable pair," the large being said, breath white clouds in the frosty, -20C air. "You offer me the corpse of the female, and a damaged male that is not in the best of health. I believe I'm being generous to offer you that much for both."

* * *

"We have bills, debts..." one said, before being silenced. The pair of small beings put their heads together, than the first said, "We accept."

* * *

"Excellent..." the large breeder said, touching a keypad. "Funds have been transferred. It is indeed a pleasure doing business. I believe you can see yourselves out, I intend to seek a hot beverage."

* * *

As they turned to go, one asked, "Hot? In this weather?"

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"What do we do?" one of the small beings moaned to another. "We needed those funds to pay bills, buy supplies for the colony and hire crew for the ship. Our only asset was the beasts, and now, we have been cheated. We cannot even pay for an assay on the minerals."

The other sipped on his cold drink, his environmental suit keeping his body temperature low. After a minute, he said, "The soldier, the one that came over to help us. He declined an offer to pay, if his ship-mates are similarly viewed, we may be able to strike a deal with them."

* * *

"It seems the best option we have," the other agreed. "What was the ship-name?"

* * *

The first, leader of the small band, pulled out his hand comp and wiped frost off the screen. After a minute, he said, "The _McCoy_, registered in private bay..." he looked more closely, "...private bay 1240." He looked at his partner, "Shall I contact him?"

* * *

"Do so," he was advised. "Perhaps he is available this day." He waved at their bar-slave for the bill.

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 17, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port, Private Bay #1240: 07:05 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"Good morning, Miss Wayne," one of the passengers said as Mattie came down the stairs from the roof with her camera bag. "I was hoping that we could go have a walkabout today."

She hesitated, searching her memory. "You're Mr... Nicholas Tobias, from..."

* * *

"Kenya," he prompted. "You remembered!"

She smiled, "As I recall, you're our geologist," and he nodded. "I'll be giving a briefing to everyone later. Those who want to go walkabout will need to go with some of the troops, and we'll be giving an etiquette lesson. You'll also be accompanied by some of the 'slave girls' (she finger-quoted) as guides."

* * *

"I wanted to ask about that," he ventured.

* * *

"This is apparently an intelligence operation that upper management, including me, didn't know about," she replied. "We're looking into that, but for now, the girls have told me, individually and repeatedly, that they are not slaves, but volunteers, they are just _covered_ as slaves." The tall, ebony skinned man nodded as she continued, "They need to continue their duties, so people will go in groups. However, I have something else for you. I just got a call, we just received a message regarding a possible trade opportunity with another planet, they have some mineral samples we'd like you to evaluate."

* * *

"This sounds most interesting," he said. "Do you have any particular instructions regarding this?"

* * *

Miss Wayne shook her head, "No, just honesty. It is apparently an ice world, and we will be lowering the temperature in the meeting room aboard the _McCoy_ as a courtesy, so dress warmly."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Fair day," Mattie said, bowing and offering her hand to the small beings. "Welcome. We have arranged a meeting room that should accommodate all of us, if you will join me?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth," Nicholas told the computer, then studied the readout of the samples. "Hmm. Most interesting. By percentage, I see ores containing copper, molybdenum, silver, and gold. I also see cobalt, sulfur, and nickel. Tungsten, aluminum and iron, and thorium, lanthanum, curium and other actinoids." He looked up, "I must assume these match your own analysis," he told their guests. They gestured affirmation, and he shifted, "Ms. Wayne, I do believe it is worth a more intensive investigation."

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Tobias," she replied, her breath a white cloud in the frosty air. "Based on these samples, what would you suggest?"

* * *

"I had already discussed survey equipment with Miss Tonks," and he gestured to her. "We dispute how much equipment to purchase."

* * *

"You can't take all our space for your equipment," Sprink said.

* * *

"The mine is underground," one of their small guests said.

* * *

"Yes, sir," Nicholas said. "For efficient extraction, a gal-tech mining extractor separates each element, putting them in separate bags or tanks. What we need to do is to set up automated equipment to move the ore from the face to the extractor, then your people can move those to the warehouse."

* * *

"There are robots for cargo handling and such," Sprink said. "They could do that, bring them from the mine up a lift to the warehouse."

* * *

Nicholas tented his fingers, "Thank you, I didn't know that." He turned, "Sir, we cannot use a pick and shovel. The first thing I would do is go through the spoil, the waste dirt and rock to extract what is valuable."

* * *

"What do you mean?"

* * *

"When you process only for iron, other elements such as aluminum are rejected as waste," he explained. "That is why an extractor is a large piece of equipment, and is power-intensive." He tapped his tablet computer, "Based on this, the thorium in a reactor would provide your colony's power needs, and the processing would produce enough helium gas for that reactor. Cogeneration with a steam plant can be used for both heat and other industrial processes, and any extracted elements that you do not need can be sold off-world."

* * *

"You said tungsten?" one of their guests said.

* * *

"Some, the primary ore is for copper, though. Tungsten would be a byproduct. There is a good demand for copper," Nicholas replied through the white puffs of his breath. "While an underground mine would moderate the surface temperature, your planet has a summer high of -25C (-13F) and a winter low of -120C (-184F), I don't believe our equipment is designed for that cold a temperature."

* * *

"What we're using in our asteroid belt would work, but we don't need it," Mattie said. "Bring the extracted materials up the lift into an insulated warehouse..."

* * *

"Drums or pallets can be stored in the cold, it won't harm them," Sprink added. "Just keep them out of the wind and snow." She took her legal pad and started to sketch. "The mine is here, the reactor is over here, in this side chamber, it can be expanded if we need to. Start wi' a fifty megawatt unit. Snowmelt for a water supply for th' steam plant. Extractor over here, in this side chamber, wi' a couple o' cargo lifts up to..." (different page) "...warehouse an' shipping point. All th' cargo an' personnel come through there, shuttles land over here, wi' a weather screen ta keep out th' snow and ice."

* * *

"You are forgetting tourism," Mr. Jamie Burnet said. "Winter sports, including hunting and fishing, are a very large business." The goblin banker leaned forward, "I saw pictures of that bear. You might market it as 'big game that hunts you'." He tapped the planetary survey, "You also have exotic food exports, both animal and vegetable. Bio-analysis would pay for itself when you can determine compatible species and planets."

* * *

"That bear wasn't something I'd want to try hunting," Mattie said.

* * *

"Not everyone's taste run to hunting," Burnet replied. "However, I must ask, are there other planets like you in the area? Small colonies? What area are you in, what's the nearest large port?"

* * *

They conferred between themselves, then said, "We know of several colonies near to our planet, the nearest large port is on a Class Ten planet, P'wheel."

* * *

Burnet tented his fingers, "I inquired with Lantern Bank on what they knew about your planetary accounts." He raised a finger when they stiffened, "Just as I am certain you did with ours, it is only good business. What I am considering is installing a trade and distribution center on P'wheel to supply colonies like yours in the stellar neighborhood. Should you require some items you cannot produce locally, a message is sent from your planet to P'wheel, there is a draw against the line of credit to purchase it, it is loaded on a ship, you would have the cargo a few days after sending the message. Your exports would work similarly, shuttled up, shipped back to P'wheel. Once the items clear P'wheel's planetary customs, we can either act as your agents in the sale, or we can be a simple warehouse operation, or you may transfer the cargo to your own facilities."

* * *

"That puts us at your mercy," one of their guests said.

* * *

"Not at all. You may contract with whomever you wish, we would simply be a preferred vendor," Burnet replied. "In order to properly exploit your natural resources, there is a considerable capital outlay. Should we decide to invest in your planet," Burnet gestured with his long fingers. "That investment needs to be repaid. You may continue to slowly chip away at the rock, or you may invest in power equipment, and we have not discussed things like your asteroid belts, orbital facilities, and so forth." He sat back, "I understand your hesitation, on our side we have similar concerns. After all, a major factor on both sides is financial. For you, it is concern about equitable return, if you will be getting grams on the kilo for your products."

One of the small guests nodded, and Burnet continued, "For our side, we are concerned about the extent of these ore deposits, are they only a few meters deep, or kilometers?" He tapped the readout of the sample analysis.

* * *

"I would suggest," Nicholas said, "We purchase proper survey equipment on Tosul, a class five port. Once we offload our existing cargo, we proceed to P'wheel, where we can look for a proper site for the distribution center. While that is ongoing, you have left your planet's coordinates with Lantern Bank. We proceed to your planet, do our geological surveys, we both return with them to P'wheel, where we have Lantern Bank certify them."

* * *

"At which point we proceed with negotiations," Sprink said. "You have certified survey results, which you can use for a mortgage on equipment, an' a cash line o' credit."

* * *

"We would negotiate an equity interest in those mines, and regarding shipping fees," Burnet waved a finger, "we may adjust rates." He looked down the table at Pansy, "Any construction can be performed under separate contract, not only on-planet, but orbital works, or anything in your asteroid belt or on any moons."

* * *

"How do we know you will keep your word?"

* * *

"How do we know you will keep yours?" Sprink replied. "We have a contract, and there are penalties on either side."

* * *

The two guests went into a huddle again, then said, "Why not use Fuel and a Galtech generator instead of a reactor?"

* * *

"Neutrino emissions," Mattie said. "They let pirates know 'Here's a colony!', but with a reactor, especially when you're supplying your own fuel for it, you can hide, and let only those people you want know where you are." She looked around, "I think we can do a preliminary agreement..."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Someone gave a sharp whistle, and the chattering crowd in the room quieted down. Arthur cleared his throat, and stepped to the front, "Can everyone hear me?" Someone shouted, "Shut it, you yobs!" and he said "Thank you." He cleared his throat, "I'm supposed to give you a status report, and what's going on here." He took a gulp from a glass of water, "Here's the situation. As you may know, we're going to buy two additional ships, then have them modified to upgrade the weapons and other systems to military spec. We hope to have the ships and other equipment by the end of the week, at which point you'll leave to your ships."

He took another drink of water, then motioned to one of the 'slave girls'. "Second point, you're wondering what's going on with the girls. They are apparently an intelligence operation that we didn't know about on Earth, we do have some of our people looking into that. For now, well..." (he looked over at the girl), "... they'll brief you." He gestured, "Mr. Asher?"

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Morton," Mike said. "I would like you to remind you that your Non-Disclosure Agreements do cover this situation. The girls are functioning as intelligence agents, you will not discuss this. Inside this building, they are just like anyone else. Outside this building, we are considered in hostile territory, and you will act accordingly." He looked around the room, "They still have duties, which you do not need to know about."

* * *

Mr. Asher took a drink from a glass of water himself. "One reason we're giving you this briefing is that people are asking about a walkabout. People, we're not a travel agent, we don't have enough spare personnel to escort you, and people, this ain't Earth." There was some muttering, "There are specific cultural and legal codes you must follow, you screw up, you can wind up either dead, or in a collar." He regarded them, "Yes, a slave collar, a judicial one. That means you are _sold_, people, just like a pair of shoes, and it's all perfectly legal."

* * *

"So why are you using slaves?" someone demanded.

* * *

One of the girls stepped up, "I'm _covered_ as a slave," she said in a British accent. "I am not a slave, but a volunteer, with informed consent, I am paid, and that's all you bloody lot need to know. I wouldn't have told you that much, doing so puts my life at risk. As far as I am concerned, I will not risk my life, and those of my colleagues, so you lot can relieve your boredom with a tourist bimble. I don't give a good bloody damn about who you are, as far as I'm concerned, you're a pain in my arse that I will be glad to see the back of."

* * *

There were several offended looks, and she added, "Our neighbors in 1238 are a nosy lot, which is why you are in this overstuffed room. Outside this building is enemy territory, and yes, you can win a judicial collar for minor crimes, like stealing a fruit. Should you, we shall try to buy you, yes, _BUY_ you like any other slave. However, that is not guaranteed, and selling us out will simply land our necks in a noose, it will not spare you. You're still a purchased slave..." and she raised her hand to wave. "Bye! Enjoy your new life, slave."

* * *

"This place looks like..." someone complained.

* * *

"It looks like a port, or a large airport," she finished. "That's because it is." She gave a final glare, then aimed a remote control, and an aerial view appeared. "The city is known as Prime. The Port, where we are located, is on the central island, as you can see. The connections to the main city are primarily through bridges and such at the 'point' of the teardrop, which is roughly northwest." She touched the remote, and a map of the Port appeared. "There is no reason for any of us to leave the Port for the city. The population prefers to keep spacers isolated on the Port. You'll notice that the upper part of the island, from about ten o'clock to two o'clock is private docks like we are. The red dot at about twelve o'clock is where we are, private bay 1240. Streets are laid out in a concentric grid arrangement, with bus stops every fifty bays, so 1200, 1250, 1300 and so forth. You would therefore catch transport to 1250 and walk a few hundred meters. Bus fares are a half-gram unless you have a registered implant, in which case it's two-tenths of a gram. To translate, about a pound without, forty pence with. A gram of tungsten is worth about one and a half Sterling, or ten Euros."

* * *

A hand raised, "Implant?"

* * *

Emma nodded, "Just about everyone has a hip implant, left for females, right for males. This has legal and medical information," and she slapped her hip. "Mine has my owner's information and a link to a bank account, so my fares are automatically debited. It's an outpatient procedure, I would suggest getting one, as it will be checked, and you'll stand out by not having one." She glanced at Mr. Asher, who nodded. "We can do it for you, we have the facilities here, it takes literally five minutes."

* * *

She turned, gesturing with the remote to the projected map, "From about two o'clock to about five, and from eight to ten are rental bays. These are transient ships, most of them are the standard fifty by fifty meter bays, like inside our own. From roughly five o'clock around to eight are larger bays, dry-docks, repair and manufacture plants, and wharves for oceangoing ships. The green circle in the center, in line with the 'point' is the office buildings for the major banks, government, the Guilds, and so forth."

* * *

"That's where you would be sold on your conviction," Danielle added from the side of the room.

* * *

Nodding, Emma said, "The large green oval below that is the main market area. Clothing, food, supplies..." she gazed at the group before adding, "...slaves."

* * *

"I thought slaves were sold by the government," someone asked.

* * *

"Judicial slaves, with the yellow and green collars," Emma said, touching her own collar, "are sold there on their conviction. After that, they're sold in the Port market like any other slave."

* * *

"Different planets treat slaves differently," Danielle said. "On some planets, just being born female is enough to get a collar. Others, like Eta Orionis, the home of WorkForce, base their entire planetary economy on the slave trade, breeding, buying, selling, the equipment and so forth. Other planets don't have slaves, or they're only with the criminal justice system. This planet, on the other hand, bases their economy on taxes, fees, and permits, so a slave is a slave. How they got that way doesn't matter, just so long as the taxes are paid. That's why Emma said stealing an apple will get you a collar. We _may_ be able to buy you off the block."

* * *

"Perhaps not, though. In which case, you're a slave, and you've been bought. Slave escape is virtually impossible, your collar has a tracking circuit in it, and if your owner wants to kill you, that's their decision." She leaned forward, "You're a slave now, you have no rights what-so-ever. Attempted slave escape is a capital crime, and you're tortured to death, slowly and in public, as a warning to other slaves."

* * *

"Do you understand why we're less than happy that you lot want a tourist look?" Danielle said. "You're putting our lives at risk, and I'm from Vegas, I've seen quite a few tourists do truly stupid things. Here, if it doesn't kill you, it's likely to get you a collar. Now," she glanced at the others and took a deep breath, "any questions?"

* * *

"I find it impossible that such things would happen," one white-haired older man with an aristocratic air said. "I certainly have no intention of following such ridiculous..."

* * *

"This is not Earth," Mike Asher said, standing up. "You will follow our personnel instructions, without argument, or you will be confined to quarters and shipped back to Earth. You are reminded, sir, of the Non-Disclosure Agreement and that it is a binding legal document, and the planetary security provisions. Should you wish to work anywhere within the Terran system in the next two hundred years, you will either stay here for the next few days, or obey their orders. Is that clear?"

* * *

"And what is to prevent me from walking out that door?" the arrogant man demanded.

* * *

"I will," another man said. "Aside from being on another bloody planet, I am your boss. Dr. Fauxton, you might be a graduate of Harvard and a hotshot on rotation out of CDC in Atlanta, but you work for me." He stood, crossing his arms. "You will sit on your ass here, Fauxton. You will not risk these people's lives for your ego, you will not discuss anything with anyone, or as God is my witness, I will do my utmost to make sure you can't get a job as a bag-boy at a grocery store." He moved to stare into the other's face, "Do you understand me, Fauxton?"

* * *

Fauxton's jaw worked several times, then he nodded jerkily. His boss regarded him, then turned, "My apologies, everyone. Please continue."

* * *

There was a moment of silence, then someone said, "That's a big port."

* * *

"It's about two hundred square kilometers," Mike replied. "About the same size as Manhattan. However, this is only a Class Seven system, so it's not really that big. It seems to be a logarithmic progression, another system like Tosul is a class five, and Terra right now would be like a Fourteen or Sixteen." He cracked a grin, "Then again, we've only been going at it for a year or so." He pointed, "Next question?"

* * *

"Yes, the bus fare was quoted in 'grams'. What do you mean?"

* * *

"Currency is based on tungsten," Emma said. "Walkabout cash would be half a kilo or so. Don't be offended if someone checks the metal content with their wrist comp. Slaves have to have specific permission to carry and handle cash, another license fee to the Port." She grinned, "We do. Larger purchases will have a certified chip for that amount, it would be silly for us to have two hundred metric tons of metal to cart about when we buy a starship. Aside from that..."

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 17, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port, Private Bay #1240, **__McCoy__**: 12:39 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"Good afternoon, masters," Danielle said, kneeling next to the two men. "I'm your guide, Danielle, for your walkabout tour."

* * *

"You don't look happy about it," Piotr said.

* * *

"I'm concerned about that idiot doc from Harvard," she replied. "He's the kind to say yes, then blow everything wide open because 'he knows best'."

Piotr traded looks with his companion, the infantry team's sniper, who nodded. "Comrade Danielle, we are in the same business. Do not concern yourself, I am KGB. What time does the port pick up trash?"

* * *

"About three AM," she replied. "Why..." she put her hands over her mouth, "...wetwork?"

* * *

"Fraulein, you do not have need to know," the German KSK (special forces) trooper replied. "Herr, I feel the need for a short stroll, and Fraulein, today I do not think we shall require your services. Thank you for your visit," and he smiled.

* * *

"Do not be concerned, Comrade Danielle," Piotr said with a smile. "We are _kulturny_, we merely wish to speak to the doctor, he will leave the planet in good health."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Dr. Fauxton?" Piotr asked. "My name is Piotr, come, let us take a short walk."

* * *

"What are you planning?" he asked suspiciously. "Wayne's trying to silence me!"

* * *

"Nonsense, Comrade Fauxton," Piotr replied. "The _Damiyo_ knows nothing of this. No, I wished to stretch my legs, and I was simply inquiring if you'd like to join me. Exercise has many benefits, as you know." He offered a hand up, "Come, you will be back within the hour, alive and well, I promise you." The white-haired older man considered this, then nodded and stood.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

They strolled for a while, observing the city-within-a-city of the port, while Fauxton admitted, "I expected another planet to look more..."

* * *

"...alien?" Piotr chuckled. as they stopped outside Number 1248. He gestured a few meters down the street at the bus stop occupying the space of Number 1250, "However, the driver of the bus has reddish skin, white hair, and antennae, and is wearing a blue smock. Her passengers include six-legged panthers, and if you look up in the sky, Comrade, there is no moon." He clapped the doctor on the back, pointing up, and reflexively, the Doctor did so. He raised his hand, and Piotr apologized, "I am sorry, Comrade Doctor, we should not have stopped next to the trash containers. Who knows what the flies have?" and he waved his hand as well, urging the other two away from the rubbish.

* * *

"Herr Doctor, I am certain that we can trust you to hold your peace regarding matters," the large German trooper said. "After all, we shall not be returning to Earth for several months, and as the briefing showed, we are on foreign soil. It is no different than your living in Geneva and being expected to obey Swiss law." He clapped the academic on the shoulder also, then took a deep lungful of air. "I do miss my morning run, though. Come, mein herren, let us see if we can arrange one. Twenty kilometers in the morning to get the blood pumping!"

* * *

"Thank you, I shall pass," Piotr said as he lit up a foul-smelling Russian cigarette. His Zippo lighter clicked, and he waved it, "Comrade Doctor, one of America's finest exports. Nyet, I saw a basketball hoop, I understand Comrade Morton is a decent player. Perhaps he would also enjoy a bit of one-on-one." He blew a stream of smoke, and Dr. Fauxton coughed. "Those are not good for you," he said, then looked at them.

* * *

"Truds?" Piotr shook out the pack, offering one. "Da, Comrade, but I became addicted to them when I worked in The Centre in Moscow, unlike our healthy young German comrade here." He lit the Doctor's cigarette, who immediately started to cough. "No, the best tobacco is still Cuban," and the soldier took a step away, out of the smoke.

* * *

"Moscow?" Dr. Fauxton asked, adding, "My god, I'm actually liking this thing."

* * *

"Second chief directorate, KGB, Comrade Doctor. Catching the spies, counterintelligence. That is why this installation concerns me, I was not briefed on it. I have good comrades from MI5 and Shin Bet back on Eunomia and in London, we shall ferret out the reason." He took a step, depositing his butt in a trash can, a minute later the Doctor did the same.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie emerged from the meeting to see a lively shirts 'n' skins basketball game going on. She stopped and watched, along with their two small guests as Arthur stole the ball, spun, and lofted a three-pointer that bounced off the rim. One of the big German troopers grabbed the rebound, sweat gleaming on his muscular chest, passing it as they turned away.

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 17, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port, Private Bay #1240, Meeting room: 14:02 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"Good afternoon, everyone," Mattie said with a smile to the freshly-showered men. "Who won the game, by the way?"

* * *

"The Deutsches Heer (German Army), of course, Frau Wayne," the Hauptmann said with a smile. "Our worthy colleagues put up a spirited battle, but they shall have to pay the first round. Do not worry about Herr Morton," he added. "He can learn to drink like a German."

* * *

"Or a Russian," Captain Senyavin added.

* * *

"As long as you lot have a designated driver, and let us know where you are," she replied with a grin. "Moving on, this is really the first chance we've had to go over the data the _Scythe_ sent us from Windfall. We were fortunate to meet them, they had quite a bit of data that hasn't been in our updates. Let's start with that."

Danielle cleared her throat, "Excuse me, Ms. Wayne, but why am I here?"

* * *

"You were on Windfall a week or two ago, you're here to provide information that isn't in the official updates. I want to get your opinions and impressions," Mattie replied. "Piotr, any news from home regarding your investigation?"

* * *

"My colleagues that have been seconded from MI5 have made contact with Lady Sarah and Lady Judith, they hold the Intelligence portfolio. My colleague Alex has started at Eunomia, speaking to the crew of the _Scythe_ regarding their orders and comparing what they sent with what was received there." He shrugged, "It is still early days, I am sorry to say."

* * *

Mattie nodded, "Danielle, what was your understanding of the _Scythe's_ orders?"

* * *

"After leaving here, we were to go to the WorkForce planet, buy up a bunch of slaves, hotel slaves, that were to be killed off as being uneconomical, transport them to Windfall, where they'd be sold (she finger-quoted) under the cover story of being sacrificed to some god. They would actually learn how to think for themselves, and they'd be freed later." She took a sip from her glass of ice water, "Things went differently, the engineer Markos I think you know about..." (She looked around, people nodded.) "Anyway, we had to make an emergency landing, which we did at the River site (people nodded again), and while the ship was being fixed, the slave girls were set to cleaning up the site and getting as much of it fixed as possible."

Pansy leaned forward as an image of the River site was loaded, "What was the condition of the site?"

* * *

"Deserted. More like evacuated, and fairly orderly. There wasn't any trash that I could see, everything was neat and tidy, if dusty. No food on the plates, scattered papers, anything like that. Everything was put away, lights turned off, beds made, and the doors locked." She shivered, "It was kind of spooky, you almost expected people to walk in on you. We only found four bodies, three were male slaves in a cell, the other was a hexataur, they called them, who was found on a branding rack." Danielle shrugged, "We buried them, along with the one casualty we had, one of the girls was killed by a feral team of hexataurs." She took a sip of water, "The cargo girls had apparently learned (she finger-quoted) that they were to be sacrificed to the great god Hoki-Poki, and there was an escape attempt before the Captain was recovered enough to get the cargo girls together and brief them." She snorted, "He wasn't believed. I'm surprised there weren't more escape attempts."

She stood, using a pencil as a pointer into the hologram, "On the mainland, south of the actual island, there's a river that runs northwest - southeast. Up here, there's a small lake that's connected to the river with a short canal. On the river, there's a small harbor with lots of wood construction. I thought that was strange at the time, the local trees are palms and bamboo, but these were thick beams and planks. There were some floating... piers, I think they're called, with the thick posts set into the riverbed." She looked down, "I'm sorry, I don't know the proper terms..."

"You are doing fine," Captain Senyavin coached. "Don't worry about the proper terms. Details help. What else can you recall?"

Danielle chewed her lip, "I'm from Vegas, a desert girl, so I don't really know about rivers... the long posts that go into the riverbed looked like steel to me. There were wooden beams, really thick ones, bolted to them, then thick planks, I didn't see much steel in the construction. It wasn't as scarce as on the island site, but the primary construction on the mainland was concrete and stone foundations, up to about a foot or so above ground, then wooden, looked like smoothed-off log cabins."

"Interesting," Captain Komatsu said. "One would think they would use one or another. Please continue," he asked gently. "Studying their designs will help with our own planning."

"Umm..." Danielle said, looking at the hologram. "A little thing, there were a lot of what were overgrown gravel flowerbeds, and the downspouts from the rafters went underground. They put flowerbeds even where I wouldn't, like around industrial buildings, instead of just houses and office buildings." She pointed with her pencil, "There was this, I think dry dock, with the boat having four domes, two by two, ahead of the bridge. The boat was partially sunk, one of the doors to the dock failed."

"Additional hurricane damage, I presume," Komatsu said. "Note the traveling crane mounted over the dock's basin. That could be some sort of fueling ship, did you see anything like a gasoline bowser?"

Danielle looked at him, "A gas pump? There were some large underground tanks here, on the mainland. You got to them by this underground doorway, here" (she pointed with her pencil), and here, under this glass partial greenhouse roof, there were lots of long plastic tubes with green goop growing in them, but this floating pier across the river" (she pointed again). "That had lots of pipes and long hoses like a gas pump. I wasn't going to swim over there to look, but I could see the pumps had glass domes. One was still intact, it had this reddish fluid in it." She paused, "They were color-coded, white, yellow, blue and red, and there was a small crane connected to the hoses."

"Strange..." Captain Alvarez commented. "I can see the separation of a fueling pier from a safety standpoint, but running the supply pipes under the river would have problems when they dredge the bottom." She stood to examine the hologram, "Still, the reddish fluid is presumably some form of diesel. I would assume all their fuels are biologically produced, the other three might be a form of aviation kerosene for the blue, an alcohol for the white, and a lighter fuel like propane for the yellow." She used her own pen to reach into the hologram, "What about the sternwheeler? It looks like she sheared her mooring lines in a storm and was blown up on the pier." She looked at it, "Notice the bow, and the fairly shallow draft, she looks like she's in decent shape, but it also tells us something about the facilities along the river itself."

Sprink leaned forward to examine the image of the wrecked ship that semi-straddled the pier. "Oy, I'm a city girl. Help me out here."

* * *

"The bow is reinforced," Captain Senyavin said. "This tells me that she's designed to go up river, when there would be ice on the river in winter, but not particularly thick ice. Perhaps a meter or two thick. Secondly, there are extra bollards and deck fittings for other equipment that we don't see. This indicates to me that this is not her home port. Also, the draft is not as low as some I've seen, but not particularly high, either. This means that these rivers tend to be reasonably placid with lower flow rates. Given where she is, the main river current is probably not particularly strong, and she might see duty in some lakes with fairly shallow depths. A high transom would be built for rougher water."

* * *

"Notice the wear on the extra bollards," Captain Komatsu mentioned. The other two Captains grunted, and he explained, "This means she made her living handling cargo, probably barges. This also means there were more sites than just the few we know about. Look at the top fittings, they look like various forms of antenna." He stood slightly to examine the image, "If this was a Terran boat, she would have radar, GPS, that small dish looks like a satellite comm antenna, and the whips for radio. They wouldn't be there for only two colony sites. There may be charts on board her." He regarded the image, "We should be able to put her back in service."

Hauptmann Gruber said. "We know the Island site uses bio-fuels. What else, fraulein?"

* * *

"One thing a lot of girls did was clean," Danielle said, examining the image and shaking her head. "That was busy work, but the Captain did mention that we were considering recolonizing the planet, and a lot of girls wanted to be sold there, so they could stay. Later, the Port Lincoln site, they've got a lot of girls doing construction." She looked around the table, "Can we?"

* * *

"I can probably use them, we're going to be stretched thin doing construction of the different test sites," Pansy said. "I was thinking of using tiger teams, going from one place to another. If they've got skilled girls..."

* * *

"As long as they're paid, Terran rates," Danielle warned. "The river, its wide, and loud. We got most of the generators going, some will need replacement equipment, or divers to clear debris from the, um..."

* * *

"Turbines," Pansy said. "We've got rated divers. What percentage of the generators are working?"

* * *

"We got seventy or eighty percent going," she guessed. "On the footbridge over the side river, you can't see it from here on the image, there's a little aluminum walk, maybe a foot wide, and iron bars set in the wide part of the triangle to make a ladder. You can see that walk vibrate, and one girl was cut when one of the rungs of the ladder snapped." She examined the image floating above the table, adding as an afterthought, "That's a big river, I couldn't see the far side, and it was loud enough you sometimes had to shout above it. There!" she said. "On the opposite side from the island, I thought I remembered seeing them. There's some what I think are hangers, and some satellite dishes behind them. I thought there was a bit of wingtip I saw, there in the middle, where the roof's blown in."

* * *

"Three hangers?" Captain Komatsu asked. "There could be an overgrown airstrip, but why the wide road leading to a pier? What's that building behind it, over the water?"

* * *

"A float plane of some sort?" Captain Alvarez wondered. "We see them enough in the Philippines."

* * *

"Interesting... definitely raises possibilities for a colony," Pansy mused. "What's in orbit?"

* * *

"A space station we knew about," Mattie said. "I haven't heard anything about weather or comm sats, we were planning to install those."

* * *

"Notice the material used in construction of those hangers," Mr. Tobias said. "Specifically the load bearing walls. That looks like some sort of cut stone to me. The Danube site is in a plateau uplift, which is probably limestone. That implies to me a trade arrangement. The local rock would be different, and I see no evidence locally of a mine. If the sternwheeler handled barges, that would explain the presence of stone and gravel." He looked at Danielle, "What was the main building material?"

* * *

"Concrete, a whitish stone, and brick on the island itself," she replied after a minute. "On the mainland, the foundations were concrete, but the majority of the buildings were that heavy wood. The walkways and roads were gravel. I didn't see any concrete block, it was all poured. The planks on the dock were wood, and I saw a lot of bamboo."

* * *

"Bamboo's a strong building material," Pansy said. "If there's a local source, then all we need is a machete and string for our scaffolding." She looked around, "Anything else about the River site?"

* * *

"There was a herd of feral hexataurs, and another large herd of the big ones, shonnen, was reported to the north," Danielle said. "They said the hexataurs used broken-off bamboo spears to kill that girl, before they were broken to harness," she added.

* * *

"Hmm," Hauptmann Gruber said, looking at a paper map. He flipped through it, "The road seems to wind north to northwest, I see what looks like a small farm every..." (he flipped pages) "... fifty kilometers or so, usually near a river with a bridge. A road with way stations, more evidence for trade routes. A good thorough aerial survey of the continent is definitely recommended. Any other wildlife?"

* * *

"Weasels, foxes and squirrels, that type of thing is all I saw," Danielle replied.

* * *

"Danke," he replied. "What about the main Danube site?"

Danielle shrugged, and Mr. Tobias said, "Foothills leading to a plateau, looks like a temperate mixed forest, mostly the limestone I mentioned, a number of caves, valleys, lakes and so forth. The photos I saw support this, I saw what can only be orchards and tree farms, so there is, or was, some form of logging going on."

* * *

"How can you tell?" Sprink asked.

* * *

"The trees were originally planted in straight rows, you can see them through the undergrowth. The tree-tops support both fruit trees, and those used for construction, like oak and pine," he replied. "There's also a perfectly circular lake close to the settlement, which could be an open-pit mine that's flooded."

* * *

"I watched the video of the _Scythe's_ closest approach," the Hauptmann said. "They recorded operating radars, X band, but nothing fired at them. There were three radars, one on a tower at the main landing area, and two defensive sites had missile batteries that moved, but nothing launched. The _Scythe_ was flying low, about 2000 meters, so we might fly our shuttles in along the river, drop teams to examine those sites and disable the missiles before we drop the doctors in."

* * *

"The missing shuttle from the Island colony?" Arthur asked.

* * *

"There is what looks like debris near a landing pad," the Hauptmann replied. "We don't know if they were caught in take-off, or on the ground. Unless the supposed feral locals had man-portable missiles..." he shrugged. Looking around, "Anything else for now about Danube?"

* * *

"The Island site?" Arthur asked. "What is this about a training camp?"

Danielle eyed him, his tone was rather angry. Ms. Wayne said, "Calm down, please, Mr. Morton. We do not shoot the messenger." She looked at the girl, "I apologize, please tell us what you can."

* * *

She looked at Mr. Morton, who took a breath, muttered 'Sorry' to her, then she said. "My understanding is that the 'sale' (she finger-quoted) of slaves is a paper transaction, basically to keep the local Customs types happy, who are also on the pad." She held out a hand, rubbing fingers together, and they nodded. "We unloaded quite a bit of cargo, I didn't see any actual inspection, but a lot of handshaking going on." She tented her fingers, "The girls are unloaded, marched up to the island's High Town, where they're registered and tattooed, then marched back behind another shonnen cart." She shook her head, "Those things are _slow_, we can walk faster than they go. They take a five day week to go the length of the island, 150 kilometers."

Arthur whistled, "Thirty klicks a day, with an average fifteen hours of daylight?" He shook his head. "What about the slaves we have there?"

* * *

"The other girls told me that it's a re-education camp. They learn a trade, like masonry or plumbing or such, and this way they also learn how to think outside their collar, so to speak," Danielle replied. "There were half a dozen girls, WorkForce slave girls, that were going off with the new girls, only they were being freed. I don't know what mechanism they use to decide, but most of the girls in a common collar didn't seem to have a problem with it, they thought I was a ship's slave, and suggested I beg to be sold there." She smirked a bit, "That was interesting. The girls in judicial collars were rather grumpy about it, they have to have a court ruling to move to a common collar, and the local judges were of the opinion 'Once a slave...', so they weren't happy about it."

* * *

"Enhanced girls?" Arthur asked.

* * *

"If they were common, they could ask, but they could be remotely reprogrammed, which they had apparently had a bad experience with. The judicial girls," she shrugged. "Same. Have to see a judge. The consensus seemed to be that they had the best deal they could get, and they kind of set that aside and didn't talk about it. Aside from that, they're apparently trying to convince the Council of Elders for a contract to pave the main roads. They're currently dirt and gravel, they want to put in 'Roman roads' (she finger-quoted), which would be paved with tile." She shrugged, "Way over me, I was only a visiting ship's slave, remember. There was a lot of anticipation about that, though. They also talked about their Investment account."

* * *

"Slaves with investments?" Pansy asked.

* * *

"Apparently the girls are paid different rates, they can elect to put that into a slave-managed investment account, which they use for different local businesses." Danielle looked at them, "Yeah, I thought it was weird myself. Apparently the compound takes two Sandur of each girl's wages for things like overhead, food, shelter, and so forth. Everything else is hers." People were staring at her, she said, "They've got investments on things like motorcycles, boat builders, and a delivery service, which is apparently turning a profit. The problem there is that the Council, one of the Elders has the existing mail service with shonnen, so this is a 'package' service." (She finger-quoted again.) "Sheer coincidence that a package looks like a letter. One or two day anywhere on the island, as opposed to the official mail through shonnen, which can take a week or more, and since the official weekly newspaper is a Council rag, the courier girls are also news. Gossip, of course, but a lot faster."

Pansy chuckled, along with several other people. "Wayne, your work's half done already."

* * *

"Almost," Mattie said. "It's a good foundation, but we still need to 'adjust' (she finger-quoted) the Council, and they can change the laws to suit themselves, so we need to be careful if we don't want anyone hung. What else?"

Danielle continued, "Well, the currency is based on iron..."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 17, 2002:  
Terran system, **__Olentangy__**, flight deck: 16:18 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

Mike hit the intercom, taking on an 'announcer's voice'. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to bring to your attention that we are now entering the Asteroid Belt. Please remain seated, bring all tray tables to the upright and locked position. We thank you for flying _Olentangy_, and have a nice day..."

* * *

He returned to his email:

* * *

_To: Mom & Dad  
CC: Mr. Pearce, Mrs. Morton  
From: Mike  
Date: 17 June, 2002  
Subject: Asteroids_

* * *

_Well, here we are, we just entered the Asteroid belt, according to the charts and my math, and it looks just the same: a whole lot of nothing. I'm not saying that the scenery isn't spectacular, I can lay here (we lay on our backs on the flight deck) and look up through this single, pure hemisphere of glass. Crystal clarity, not even an nose print to smudge it, and the view is magnificent. I can look at it for hours, the black sky with the stars, and I think to myself, 'My god, I'm in SPACE!' _

_The stars don't twinkle, some of them you can see faint colors, which you can't from Earth. Earth, by the way, is a large star with a pinprick moon, and Mars was this reddish-mud colored marble we held a camera on. I'm attaching a photo for everyone of our closest-approach shot of it. _

_We probably won't see an asteroid, even though there's millions of them. They average about a kilometer or so in size, and we'll be through the Belt in another few days. Then pass Jupiter (staying very far away from it!) and off to Saturn and then drop a lander onto Titan. The Guard has radar-mapped it and has a small station in orbit, we're going to try to drop the lander dead-center on the claim. Why does the phrase 'Methane seas and nitrogen skies' go through my mind at that? Misty's an 'old time rock chick', she says._

_Off to Uranus then, drop off the balloon and gondola, suck 'n' dump, suck 'n' dump while we orbit and fill our tanks. That's Misty's department, I just have to fly us straight 'n' level, and Hank makes sure that our gizmos and thing-a-ma-jigs work. He's really sweating the tractor beam thingie, it's been giving some odd readings, and if it croaks on us, we don't have a way to recover the balloon. He's gone outside and re-worked it a couple times now, but maybe he just likes EVA. _

_Mr. Pearce, you asked about our life-support. We've got a fancy air conditioner, but in our common room, which we keep at a third gravity, but we've got several climbing vines also. If they're healthy, they have these purple flowers with white centers, and if the air starts to go bad, the white centers turn yellow. I think they're a Chinese plant, but what we've found is that if we water them with the water we use to boil spaghetti with, they're happy, and it's a bit less waste to dump. If you boil the smaller leaves, you can use them for tea. However, nobody here is a tea drinker. Strictly speaking, we're on a vegetarian diet. The 'hamburger meat' and 'chicken' we have is some sort of soybean thing, but it sure looks and tastes like beef and chicken, and costs a lot less! _

_I don't know why I didn't try dictating my email before, I've only had to correct two typos, much better than my typing this on a keyboard. Pity I can't use it in school! _

_I'm going to close, Misty just called, my turn to cook. I've got a thing with black beans and rice I've been wanting to try.  
Love,  
Mike _

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Tuesday, June 18, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port: 02:58 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"I'll wait with the truck, mistress," one of their 'slaves' said, and the group of women went into the pub to collect their male colleagues.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"What do we owe you?" Mattie asked the barkeep, regarding the large group of mostly sleeping men.

* * *

"Forty grams," he replied as Elena got her brother Arthur's arm over her shoulders, and Sprink picked up Charlie. Mattie passed him a fifty gram coin, "For your troubles," then she asked, "Have a spare case of Pareek't juice I can buy?"

* * *

"Think so," he replied, the deal was struck, and a bar-slave was woken to fetch it.

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Tuesday, June 18, 2002:  
Eridani Prime, **__shuttle LK 0520__**: 07:05 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

Elena adjusted her comm headset, turning to her copilot in the passenger shuttle. "Ready to go?"

* * *

Helen Chin examined her boards, on these shuttles, the copilot also served as flight engineer. "Straight green board. Ready to lift."

* * *

"Here we go, then," Elena said with a deep breath, and pressed her mike:

* * *

"_Lima King Oh Five Two Oh, Orbital control, permission to lift from private bay 1238 to orbit. Destination holding area Four_."  
"_Orbit, Lima King. Permission to lift to altitude five zero zero and hold for transit to holding area four."  
"Lima King, Orbit. Copy permission to lift to five zero zero and hold there."_

* * *

Helen had brought up the air-breathing engines for atmospheric flight, with only a slight wobble and bump, they brought up the antigrav until they were at an altitude of a hundred meters, extending the shuttle's delta wings for atmospheric flight, she then transitioned to forward flight.

* * *

"So far, so good," Helen said, raising the landing gear with a thump. "Twenty minutes to orbit. I wish these seats were padded."

* * *

"I'm sure we can come up with something," Elena replied. For some unknown reason, the seats were bare aluminum, two 'leaves' with a groove running front-to-back separating them. The armrests were similarly bare, a flat slab of metal. Helen made a grease-pencil note on her window, then said, "We don't have any paper towels."

* * *

"We'll figure out something," Elena replied.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"_Lima King, Orbit. Holding at five zero zero for transit to Holding area four."  
"Orbit, Lima King. State your intention, please."  
"Lima King, Orbit, we've got passengers that are looking to buy a couple of ships, so we'll be going to a different area after this. Did you need the buoy numbers for the ships they're interested in?"  
"Orbit, Lima King. No thanks, we don't need the buoy numbers. It's a bit unusual to get this formal a style of comm traffic. Transfer to pattern fourteen to the holding areas, and thank you."  
"Lima King, Orbit, it's the way I was trained. Transferring to pattern fourteen, and thank you." _

* * *

"Well, that was interesting," Elena commented, flipping the comm to standby. "What do they usually say, 'Yo, orbit?'" she asked.

* * *

"Possibly," Helen replied, making another note. She turned as someone knocked on the metal hatch; she twisted around to slap the handle. "C'mon in," she said.

* * *

"Oy, how are we doing?" Pansy asked, then waved her hand, "Bloody hell, this place is hot!"

* * *

"Black uniforms, bare metal and lots of sunshine," Elena replied. "Plus, these uniforms are just downright... fugly."

* * *

"Fugly?"

* * *

"F...ing ugly," Helen said. "I was thinking, the jumpsuit is nice enough, durable and all, but there's no style to it."

* * *

"This isn't a bloody Paris catwalk," Pansy replied.

* * *

"Oh, for working in the mud, in a construction site, a jumpsuit, it's fine. On a flight deck, though..." Helen waggled her hand. "If the guys want to wear them on board ship, that's fine, but I think the girls would appreciate a bit more style in their uniforms."

* * *

"As long as you remember that it IS a uniform," Pansy said, leaning on the hatch.

* * *

"Well, we're Guard, but you're a private company," Helen said, pressing the switch to move her chair back. "Right now, it's combat boots and white socks, a colored shirt and the black jumpsuit, perfectly adequate, functional, but no style."

* * *

"Go on," Pansy said.

* * *

"For those of us that don't need to get dirty, I was thinking of a base of white tights, leather knee boots, and a turtleneck bodysuit in the division colours. Over that, a minidress with a large black collar, yours would be your company's navy blue. Much cooler and better looking."

* * *

"I'll think on it," Pansy replied dubiously.

* * *

"Think on what?" Mattie said, poking her head in. "Why don't you have the A/C on in here?" She reached down, flipping on some switches, and fans started up. "How much longer do you think?"

* * *

"A little over five minutes to buoy 4-56, and that ship allows docking," Elena said. "How are the guys doing?"

* * *

"Hung over," Pansy replied.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"So they want a uniform re-design?" Mattie asked skeptically as she sat down with Pansy and Captain Komatsu. She shook her head, "Let 'em put it through channels, but you can do what you want."

* * *

"Can't hurt to look at a sketch or two," Pansy replied philosophically. She took out a briefing folder, "This first ship looks interesting. Docking bays for a dozen heavy-lift shuttles, three passenger shuttles like this one, and the dirtside construction equipment is shuttled down in individual maintenance pods. Housing and utility pods, all sounds very nice. Ship's only about five years old, too."

* * *

"Why is it on the market? I would think it would be snapped up," Mattie said.

Pansy flipped pages, "It's apparently underpowered, and there were liability questions that came up regarding the previous owner. It's been in litigation, with the insurance company putting it on the market after a court fight."

* * *

"Clear title?"

* * *

"I believe so..." the Captain said. More pages turned. "Hmm. Comes with a total of nine slaves..."

* * *

"NINE?"

* * *

"Six for maintenance on the pods and associated equipment, three for the ship, including an Engineer First and two rated Engineer Third. Rather specialized knowledge," the Captain said, looking up from the file folder. He raised a finger, "I stand by my word, Ms. Wayne, I will offer them their freedom and a Guild contract. If you view this objectively, this does solve several problems for us. We will need to emplace larger generators to power the military grade weapons, this allows us to keep the originals as auxiliary units. This also allows us to resolve maintenance, not only on the ship but on the construction equipment. By having personnel intimately familiar, we flatten the learning curve."

* * *

"With construction equipment, every minute a machine's not moving dirt, it's costing you money," Pansy said. "I'm concerned about the title, and how much it's going to cost us in upgrades, but already having equipment, instead of having to buy it..."

The intercom came on, Elena said, "For those of you interested, we have the first ship on the port side. It looks kind of like a skinny sausage sitting on a bagel to me. We're going to be doing a close flyby, docking aft on the port side, where the Captain's gig would normally be." It clicked off, and people in the small shuttle turned to look through the ports as the ship came into view.

Painted white, it floated with the blinking green lights of a moored starship. As they watched, floodlights came on, illuminating the somewhat blocky top and where it tapered down to a pronounced circular bulge at the bottom. As was common with merchant ships, the ship's spine was the top deck, where her major equipment rooms were located. Her three drive nacelles and the feathery drive generators were at the 'twelve', 'five' and 'seven' locations aft, while forward there were three black gun blisters. A relatively small circular black opening appeared on the aft end, flashing red and green lights to either side. There was a 'chunk' and then a whirring noise as their small wings retracted. Elena's voice came again, "Sixty seconds to docking, please wait until we have come to a complete halt. We will inform you when we have a good seal. Please secure all loose materials, bring your seats and tray tables upright, and thank you for flying with us."

* * *

There was an instant of darkness, then they were flying in a small tunnel. The ship came to a halt, then with additional clanking noises, rotated back to front. People on the port side could see machinery lifting them up a shaft, until they came to a halt in a dimly-lit bay. On the starboard side, passengers could see a flexible tube on scissor-arms extending. More clicking, and lights above the main hatch on the right started to change. All six lights burned green, and Elena appeared.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with us. We are at the cabin level, if you number from the spinal deck with main engineering, we are two down from that. Above this we have the flight deck, on this level are the staterooms for the Captain and Owner, other cabins are further forward, along with slave quarters, main medical, recreation, and a stores deck."

* * *

"What's below this deck?" Pansy asked.

* * *

"Maintenance and docking space for the light passenger shuttles, and the main generator," Elena replied. "Main Engineering, if you add all that in, goes from the spinal deck down three to the one below us, or a total of four decks. Forward, there are docks and maintenance for six heavy lift shuttles and their supplies." She rested her hand on the hatch. "We are forward of the Captain's cabin, this maintenance bay is not currently pressurized. Out the hatch, turn right, the passage leads to the main cabin passage. The Chief Engineer is waiting for us."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Tuesday, June 18, 2002:  
Eridani Prime port, Private Bay #1240, Meeting room: 11:15 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

Mattie turned to Arthur, "How did you and Sprink do yesterday?"

* * *

"I think about as well as you and Pansy did," he replied. "Whoever did their homework on that ship did a good job, and it doesn't even have slaves like yours did."

* * *

"Of course, ours is more specialized," Captain Komatsu replied. "I checked the Guild Halls for construction equipment maintenance techs over the net when I got back, hiring a free crew would add almost thirty percent to our costs, primarily having to go to the civilian halls. With the additional requirement of a vacuum rating, thirty-five percent, and several did not want to work off-world. We can hire a Guild healer and still save money, which we can put toward the ship's upgrades. The only real downsides are that I would like confirmation of a clear title, and the insurance company was rather ... parsimonious ... when it came to the slaves living on the ship. They are not starved, per se, just underfed. I want one of our doctors to take a look at them."

* * *

"Aside from that, raw materials, concrete, steel, that kind of thing, is needed, and food stocks for the ship." Pansy said. "The licenses and permits from the Portmaster are current, the only real question is the title. Morton, what about your ship?"

* * *

"I like one of the three, like I said," he replied, then looked at Captain Alvarez. "Ma'am?"

* * *

"I agree, close the deal," she said. "It's even larger than what we were looking for, I want to get the ship into the yard and get her reactors upgraded, the clock's ticking. While that's going, we can look into the Guildhall and do some hiring. Three engineers, a doc, and an astrogator, I think."

* * *

"Then I think we've got our afternoon cut out for us," Mattie said.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Dr. Livingston, I presume?"

* * *

Martha looked up from her reading, "Yes?"

* * *

The young officer said, "Doctor, I am First Officer Yakolev of the new construction ship, the _Buckminster Fuller_. You'll need to evaluate the medical facilities, and prioritize any changes. In addition the slaves aboard are reported as looking 'thin'. As they will be part of Captain Komatsu's crew, he is concerned. Dr. Cervantes recommended you, as you have the most recent GP experience."

* * *

"What will we be doing with the slaves?" Martha asked the young officer, putting herself together.

* * *

"Once the paperwork is finalized, we'll be upgrading the ship's reactor, and we'll be freeing them and offering them a Guild contract. The Captain and Ms. Parkinson are on their way back from the bank with the various documents and chips. You've got fifteen minutes or so, Doctor."

* * *

She paused, "Does that mean I'm permanently assigned to the _Bucky_?"

* * *

"Would you like to be, Doctor?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

Martha was, she admitted to herself, a bit nervous. Fortunately, the young Russian officer sitting next to her hadn't made any of the jokes about her last name, she was so tired of those. He had courteously offered her the window seat, and sat studying his datapadd, while hers was filled with information on the wondrous new med-tanks, and how to operate them. She thanked her lucky stars that she didn't have to _repair_ the things, just use them. She leaned over, "Excuse me?" He blinked and looked up at her, "What did you mean by the slaves were 'thin'?"

* * *

Captain Komatsu leaned forward from his seat on the other side of the aisle, looking at her. "Doctor, they didn't look malnourished, so much as hungry. The insurance company that was their previous owner apparently was rather frugal with their rations." She nodded, "Please do not mention to them my intention of freeing them, I wish to do so after we have had a chance to evaluate their skills." She raised her eyebrow, and he added, "I fully intend to do so, but I don't want that affecting their performance, and my decision on offering them a Guild contract."

* * *

"As long as you do, sir," she replied.

* * *

"I do," he replied, gesturing at the port on his side, "Would you like to see your new ship, Doctor?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Doctor Martha Livingston," she told the computer in the Captain's cabin, placing her hand on the authentication pad. She felt a brief twinge, the display changing to read, 'DNA signature stored. Unknown skill level.' She looked at the Captain, who smiled faintly, "Estimates are a week to ten days to install the new reactor, doctor, and then another week to Tosul. Can you be ready to sit an equivalence exam by then?"

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

Martha decided to start with the maintenance techs, and was a bit surprised to learn they were intimately familiar with the ship as well. As the first one observed, "We've had a lot of time to teach each other, Mistress. There wasn't much else to do."

* * *

Martha grunted, "A few things you have to learn. First, I am your doctor, so what we discuss is confidential. Nobody, including the Captain, will learn anything from me that you have not specifically released me to tell them, and any staff I have is similarly sworn to secrecy." The girl started to say something, and Martha leaned close. "I don't care what you do, or don't, have on your neck. You are my patient, I am your doctor. You can tell me anything you want, and I will take it to my grave. Is that understood?"

* * *

The patient regarded her for a minute. "Mistress, I..."

* * *

"Second point. In my sickbay, there is no master and slave, no Mistress. I find the term offensive, I would appreciate your not using it. If you were Enhanced, and were forced to use it, that is a different matter. In here, I am Doc, or Doctor Martha Livingston, if you want to be formal. Now then, your question was?"

* * *

The girl regarded her. "My teeth hurt, mis... Doc, I'm tired all the time, and I have this itch up inside me," and she tapped her belt.

* * *

"Bloody slave belts," Martha growled. "Yours have a lock?"

* * *

"No, mis... Doc, it's sealed."

* * *

Martha growled again, then pulled out a penlight, "Open up, let me take a look... wider..." Gently taking the girl's chin in her hand, she shone the light at her patient's teeth. She grunted and nodded. "You have what looks like a cavity on the left side." She picked up a steel probe, gestured, and gently poked at it. "Ow!"

* * *

"Yep. Cavity." The doctor tossed the probe aside, "Tunic off, please," and put the earpieces of her stethoscope in. "Back straight, please... deep breaths... again... again... Turn around, please. Deep breaths... again... again..." She then took blood pressure and pulse, checked the pupils and the ears, and took a step back. "Dr. Livingston to Captain," she told the air.

* * *

"Yes, Doctor?"

* * *

"Just to give you a head's up on my shopping list. I want at least one assistant physician, and a paramedic -slash- nurse, a Healer Fifth would do. If my patient here is representative, I would like one or both cross-trained in dentistry and ophthalmology, and the associated equipment. There's a small office we can use for a dental lab."

* * *

"Is that all, Doctor?"

* * *

"Surely you jest, Captain. I want these goddamn belts off, and I know about the ICC. We can gimmick up something for inspectors if necessary, this is a construction ship, we've got machine shops and whatnot."

* * *

"Please do not call me Shirley, Doctor. What about first aid for the job site?"

* * *

"On my list, Captain, I might steal one of the shuttles. Once I've seen everybody, then I'll give you a comprehensive report. We'll have forty or fifty people, a bit much for one cranky doctor from Edmonton."

* * *

"I shall let you get back to it, then, Doctor. Thank you."

* * *

Martha refocused on her patient. "Now then. You mentioned you're tired all the time, you're at least ten kilos under where I'd like you. However, until I can get your cavity fixed, you're going on a liquid diet. Warm, not too hot or too cold, and that's broths and thin soups. A nice, big mug of meat broth before and after your watch will give you more protein." She reached out to manipulate a bicep, "The low-grade starvation robs you of muscle mass. I want to see this exercise room, but later." She tossed her patient her thin white slave tunic, "Any questions?"

* * *

"Doctor, can we do anything for you?"

* * *

"This is my duty, m'dear. We're shipmates, you don't owe me anything." The girl looked at her, and Martha returned her gaze. "Nothing. I'll see what I can do about those damned nipple bells. For now, send in the next person."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"One cranky doctor?" Pansy repeated, and Mattie snorted. "My godfather, Dr. Phillips, God rest his soul, was just like that." She returned to unpacking the cardboard box, "This needs to be installed at the comm station on the bridge and hooked down here." She gestured at the open computer bay in the engineering section, and Captain Komatsu took the cardboard box. "I'll see to it. Do you require any assistance?"

* * *

"We should be good for it, Captain," Pansy replied. He nodded, "I shall be with the Engineer, installing our various registration chips and getting ready to move. Call me if you require me." He left, and Pansy checked the installation manual. "Step one. Remove cloth cover, verify contents against List One. Items should match Diagrams One-A through..."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Now comes the battery," Charlie said, and Arthur grunted. He took some deep breaths, crouched, and with a surge from his legs, lifted it into place on the rack. "Hurry..." he gasped, "This thing is heavy!"

"Fast as I can..." Charlie mumbled, and his power screwdriver whirred. "Up a little on your left... Two more... There, every hole has a bolt."

"Thank god," Arthur said, carefully releasing it. He took a step back, leaning against another rack of equipment as Charlie experimentally tried to wiggle the battery. "I wonder how the girls are doing?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Owww!" Pansy said, as the heavy battery landed on her foot. "Geddit off!" Mattie crouched, lifting one side and Pansy slid her foot out. "Wayne to Dr. Livingston, we have an injury. Pansy dropped a heavy battery on her foot."

"Bring her in," the reply came.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Toes are bruised, not broken," was the diagnosis. Dr. Livingston reached up out of habit to pull the curtains, then checked herself. "You kvetch from the sidelines, Ms. Parkinson, you won't be kicking downfield for a few days. Off your feet," and she gave her a tube of painkilling ointment. "On the tootsies, wear a sock to bed, reduce the gravity in your quarters. One of these tablets with every meal for pain. No beer, tea, or other stimulants. Water only to drink, I'll see you again day after tomorrow." Pansy opened her mouth, "We've got lots of people on this ship, I'm sure one of them can cover for you on the pitch. Questions? Off with you, then," and she was handed a crutch.

Mattie waited in the companionway, Pansy said, "I'm off my feet for a few days. Looks like we lose the bet."

One of the techs waiting in the corridor fetched a wheelie chair from the rec room, while another asked, "Bet, mistress?"

"I bet my boyfriend dinner that we could get our equipment installed before he could," Mattie replied. Looks were exchanged, "We can't have you lose that wager, mistress. Can you use some help?" Pansy chuckled, and Mattie said, "On one condition. I am not 'mistress', my name is Mattie. If I hear the term 'Mistress', I'll... I'll..."

"Slap you with a small, dead, fish," Pansy suggested with a grin. "We've got equipment to install!" and she took the seat in the wheelie-chair.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We'd like to do something nice for Doc," one of the girls said. "She's really the first to treat us like people, but when we offered, she said no."

"You're offering to pay her for doing her duty, something she wants to do," Pansy explained. "It's a mild insult. No, if you want to do something nice for her, she'd appreciate curtains in her examining room."

Mattie nodded, before asking, "How are the lights?" Pansy kicked the chair with her good foot, and one of the girls moved slightly. "Just like they should be," she replied, book on her lap. She continued, "A doctor's office usually has curtains hanging from tracks, they can pull them around to provide privacy, someone else can't see or hear anything."

"I need an adapter cable from the power bus," Mattie said, and one of the girls replied, "I'll get that. What are the voltages?" She scribbled a note, running off as another girl came in, "The panel is installed on the flight deck, mistresses."

"Dead fish!" another girl warned, and people laughed as someone took her aside to explain, while another said, "Curtains and tracks would be simple enough to fabricate, all we need is to get her out of the compartment for a few hours."

"She'll be going to the Port's market with the Captain soon," Pansy said. "She wants to get a couple more people, some dental equipment, and something for eyes. At least several hours."

"Simple enough," another girl agreed. "What is the usual arrangement?" Pansy pulled open her legal pad, sketching. "This is a patient bed, figure two meters long by a meter wide. Curtains I've seen are fairly heavy white material, but they let some light through, they're hung on light chains for air flow. They slide on a J-shaped track, ending about half a meter from the floor." She sketched three beds, "Next to the bulkhead this one would just come over to cover the width, about two meters, and about three from the other bulkhead, so this is a short horizontal one that slides to meet this longer one, about six or seven meters long that slides out and around..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ah, so there you are..." Dr. Livingston said as she entered the ship's mess, and Mattie gestured to a free chair, "Take a load off, Doc. How is everyone?"

"Not bad, all things considered. I haven't seen you two, though," gesturing with her mug at Elena and Helen, the two pilots. "What are you working on?" she asked, craning a bit.

"They want a uniform redesign," Pansy said, and turned to the two. "In construction, it's very much a guy's field, and I have two strikes, I'm female, and I have a 'flower' name. I cannot be at all girly, in order to get anything done, I've got to be one of them, so I can't wear a dress."

"Do one for the guys as well," Doc said, motioning for the sketchpad. She quickly sketched out a male figure, and Mattie looked at Elena with a grin, "Where's Teela?"

"My sister, the 'artiste' in the family," Elena explained. "My brother's engaged to the Queen here, so we're kinda in-laws."

"Ah," Helen said, then without getting up, faked an elaborate bow. "Most honored, your Majesty..."

"The Tower of London's just too far away..." Mattie complained, then looked at the detailed sketches Doc Livingston had produced. "I'm surprised, Doctor."

"Part of medical school is being able to describe the condition of an organ," she explained. "I took some art classes, it's a memnotic for me to sketch it out." She turned them about, "The only thing is the hose for the women, you're going to get runs like there's no tomorrow."

"More leggings than pantyhose," Helen said. "I checked the materials database, there's a thermal material that should do, and it's fairly strong."

"I remember wearing the school tights and going to Herbology in the winter," Pansy said. "I was always so bloody cold..." She added, "The class was in greenhouses, outside, in a Scottish winter," and people winced. "If you can get a male model, run up some samples, and get the Captain's approval."

* * *

"Get the Captain's approval for what?" said Captain asked. He leaned over, mug of tea in his left hand. "Ah, the uniforms. I heard about these, and about your request for an ambulance shuttle, Doctor." He reached down, rotating the sketch pad to examine the sketches. He picked up the pen, "Extend the under-tunic so the sleeves show on the wrist, and have a cuff-band..." he sketched them in. "Thirty degrees up on both sleeves with the ship's name. Narrow the black collar. Does everyone have all your possessions from the _McCoy_?"

"We didn't know we'd been reassigned, sir," Elena said, and Dr. Livingston waved her hand also. "We'll need to get all that."

The Captain removed the sheet, "Doctor, we will be selling two of our small shuttles to finance your ambulance shuttle. We need to clear part of the aft shuttle area for the installation of the new reactor, the old one will be moved forward as a secondary." He took a sip of his tea, "I shall give this to the Second Officer to enter into the replication database, I expect my crew to be properly uniformed. Ms. Parkinson, you have the acting rank of Ensign while you serve as my Comm Officer."

"Yes, sir," Pansy said. "I request a change of quarters out of the Owner's suite."

Captain Komatsu nodded. "We shall redesignate them as VIP quarters. Ms. Wayne, do you mind assisting Ms. Parkinson? We should arrive in the yard in about an hour, you have that long to fabricate your new uniforms and report to the flight deck. Doctor, do not forget to wear your Healer's vest."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Martha checked the quarters she'd been given, a two-bunk sleeping area, workstations with a 'T' shaped common table, and a set of dresser drawers. She dropped her bags on a bunk, and stood in front of the replicator, "Martha Livingston, complete ship's uniform and Healer's vest."

The unit considered the request for a minute, 'Please stand by, specifications incomplete'. She grunted to herself, and started to unpack. There was a tone from the door, and she called, "Come in!"

The door slid open, Ms. Parkinson came in on her crutch, assisted by Ms. Wayne with her bags. Martha raised her eyebrow, "Two room-mates?"

* * *

"I'm just the pack horse," Ms. Wayne said. "I'm going to return to the _McCoy_, and copy over their replication database for you guys. Anything else you need?"

"If we think of something, we'll either call you or buy it planetside," Martha said.

"Dirtside," Mattie corrected with a grin. "Talk like a spacer. Want one of the other docs, Doc?"

Dr. Livingston shook her head, "Personality conflicts, and I want to pick my staff. Besides, I'm going to look like an idiot not knowing how to use some of this kit, this way I can delegate and 'supervise' so I won't be too embarrassed."

"Join the crowd," Pansy said. "I've got to operate the comm system, and I've only had a few hours to read up on our kit, much less the ship's built-in gear. Speaking of which, our uniforms?" and she gestured at the replicator.

"'Specifications incomplete' when I tried earlier," Martha replied, finger-quoting. "I guess the Second is still keying them in. Let me give it another try," and she stood, "Dr. Martha Livingston, complete ship's uniform and Healer's vest." There was a rising chime, and a panel slid down, showing a neatly folded uniform sitting on a pair of boots.

* * *

"That is _so_ cool..." Doc said. "How close are we to doing that?"

"We can do inorganics like clothing and dishes, but complex molecules like drugs or organics like food come out grey goop," Mattie said with a grin. "We also have to reduce the power demand, ours will black out large areas of Tokyo. Give it time, Doc. Rome wasn't built in a day."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So far, I like the new uniform," Pansy said, pulling the red bodysuit on and adjusting it. She snapped the crotch, and twisted, "God, I have to lose weight."

"That shows it, the dress hides it, somewhat," Doc said, showing off her own uniform. "It's been years since I wore a dress this short." She examined herself, the light blue of her turtleneck bodysuit contrasted with the black collar on the navy over dress. She pulled on the magenta Healer's vest, stepping back to get the whole picture, and fluffing out her collar-length brown hair. "Whoever specified rubber soles on the boots, and NOT heels should get a pat on the back," she said, turning about to examine the back of the uniform. She tossed Pansy the navy blue over-dress and shot her own light blue cuffs, "This actually hides my thunder thighs. Let's go embarrass ourselves."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The doors to the lift hissed open, and Pansy maneuvered out, the Asian officer in the center seat turning to regard her. She straightened as much as she could with the crutch, "Acting Ensign Pansy Parkinson, reporting for duty as Comm Officer, ma'am."

The Korean smiled slightly, "We're not the navy, Ms. Parkinson. I'm Second Officer Michelle Park, and at the helm is Lieutenant Gisele Erhardt (who waved without turning from her board)." She continued, "We're a merchant ship, even though we have naval personnel. We don't bother with ranks." She gestured to the comm station, "Take your post, please, and I must say that uniform looks good."

The ship shuddered slightly, and Gisele looked up, "Docking tractors are locked on, sending finished with engines." She sat back, stretching and cracking her knuckles, then turned, giving Pansy an eye, then she whistled. "Looks good," she said, as Pansy's board whistled at her. She struggled over, getting her headset on. "The dock wants to know when to mate the gangway," she said.

Ms. Park held up a finger, hissing, "Stall them!" as she jumped at the vacant engineer's board, calling up a ship's schematic. Pansy told the dock, "One moment, please, the... watch officer is temporarily... unavailable." She turned to wink, "Yes, that happens at the worst times," she agreed quietly, as Ms. Park pointed at Gisele, "Have a couple of the troops ready to go with Pansy for the Port Watch, we'll need a rotation set up!" The blonde put her headset on, and started to murmur quietly in German as Michelle said, "Got it!" She pointed at Pansy, who covered her mike with her hand, "Get the comm remote and the logging datapadd, there, tell them the starboard access." Pansy gave a thumbs up, while Gisele gave another one as she passed the instructions on.

Pansy signed off, as a remote camera captured the flexible gangway unfolding from the dock, extending toward the ship. Michelle pointed at her, "Parkinson, get your butt over there and down that tube as soon as it's airtight. Erhardt, go with Pansy, stand watch in the boarding compartment until Security can set up access control there, it's just forward of the slave cells. I want an armed trooper with Parkinson for Port Watch duty. The compartment and Port Watch will be manned twenty-four - seven while we're docked." She turned, moving to the Comm post and handing Pansy a datapadd and remote unit. "We're ALL going to have to learn this ship. Put your station into remote mode..." she leaned forward when Pansy hesitated, turning a control. "Learn your post, Parkinson, it's new to all of us. Go, the console will forward to you." She turned, "Erhardt, help Parkinson, and you can take fifteen minutes to change uniforms after Security relieves you."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

A German NCO was waiting with another trooper as Pansy arrived, both men giving the women measuring glances. Gisele smiled back as the one stepped forward, "Meine Damen," and stiffened, "Unteroffizier Hauser will accompany you dockside. We are still shorthanded, we expect the remainder of our personnel to come up with our next shuttle. I do apologize."

"Es ist nicht ein Problem, Feldwebel. Danke," (It is not a problem, Feldwebel. Thank you,)" Gisele replied in German, switching back to English as the tube mated with a clank. She added, "Frau Parkinson, let me help you with the tube."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The station they were docked to was active, with two working slips for each of the eight segments. It was fairly plain, with a hexagonal cross-section, gravity was adjusted so that even though her eyes insisted the deck she stood on (at 'four o'clock') was at an angle to the 'central' deck (at 'six o'clock') between the two slips, walking between them didn't feel 'up' or 'down'. She took a seat on the short aluminum bench next to the clear wall, the inboard side of the clear, flexible boarding tube and its associated machinery angling off above her. Even though she knew it wouldn't happen, it looked like the ship was held up only by the tube, and it would fall any second.

Above her, a digital signboard changed to read (in Trade) '_M/V __Buckminster Fuller_'. She looked over at the young NCO, and said, "Relax. Have a seat." She gestured at the crews standing Port Watch for the slips on either side (the one across from them at 'eight o'clock' was empty), "They're not standing at attention, no reason you should."

"Danke, Frau Parkinson," he replied. "This is not the 'attention' position. I was ordered to stand my post until relieved, and this way (he gestured 'up'), I don't have to see the ship about to fall on me."

"A bit TOO much glass in the construction," she agreed. "You're making me feel guilty, though."

"Why?" he replied. "You have an injury restricting you to light duty. There is nothing to feel guilty about, however (he tapped the intercom), have you performed a comm check?"

Pansy winced, "Thanks," and proceeded to do so.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Dr. Livingston settled back in her seat as the light shuttle emerged from the side of the _Bucky_. "If possible, Captain, I'd like to reserve the bay we were in for the ambulance, faster access to sickbay."

"This is not all about you, Doctor," he replied. "I can fully understand an ambulance, construction is dangerous. However, we are not equipping a hospital ship. Should you require something else, you must have the budget for it, be willing to trade, build it, or do without." He gestured, "We still need to get the rest of our personnel aboard, and become at least minimally competent with the equipment we do have. We were fortunate that we have a surplus of shuttles at the moment and we could trade, and that the dealer was willing to make a trade."

"I can triage, Captain," she replied. "I can make that little store-room a dental and optometric office with a bit of specialized exam gear. The rest I can make with the help of an engineer or two."

He grunted, "I want to review any changes, Doctor. It's your sickbay, but my ship."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, June 19, 2002:  
Eunomia, secure area, Courtroom 3: 07:29 (GMT)  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Next case, please," the judge said, as Pamela left the dock, sitting with the rest of the _Scythe_'s crew. She looked disappointed, but leaned forward as 'Brittany' was called.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"...I don't know what the exact situation was, mistress," she replied. "I was First Engineer, yes, but I was also slave. In the engineering spaces, we did not have a tactical repeater, and we would have been too busy to look at it if we had. The first indication I had was when armored troops came in the engine room with the Second Officer. We slaves were chained and led out."

"What did you usually do with a captured ship?" the judge asked.

"When it was declared secure, we would go across to evaluate what was salable among the ship's equipment and fittings. A prize crew was put aboard, and we would meet them later. I rarely saw the target ship's crew, only occasionally a body or two in their uniform." Brittany shrugged, "I was slave, I did as I was ordered."

The judge grunted, "I have here affidavits from the ship's officers of the _Scythe_, testifying to your assistance." She tented her fingers, "I will annul your conviction, as you said, a slave does what she is ordered. You may then petition for a dark collar. However, I would like you to reassure me and take another cruise with Captain Watson." She slammed a wooden hammer, "Next case?"

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Wednesday, June 19, 2002:  
In orbit, **__McCoy__**, Owner's cabin: 10:32 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

* * *

"You, young lady, are going to bed," Arthur said. "Don't deny it, you need the rest." Mattie looked stubborn, and he continued, "There is nothing that you or I need to do at the moment, people are being transferred, ships are being worked on, and I'm at a stopping point in my research." He walked over to her, turned her by the shoulders, and gave a gentle shove. "Bed."

"Where are you going to sleep? One bed, two people," she asked, reluctantly sitting on the bunk to remove her boots.

"I'll get a couple of blankets and a pillow, don't worry about me."

"Nope. Not gonna work," she replied. "We're almost-married, we can share a bunk. It does not have to involve sex, so don't worry about that." She set her paired boots to the side, standing to stretch, then removing her jumpsuit and folding it as she yawned. "I need to call Captain Senyavin about..."

"Go grab a shower, I'll call him. I'll ask him if there's anything you need to do, if not, we're not to be disturbed," he replied.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We can reassign quarters," the Captain offered.

Arthur shook his head, "No, sir, thank you though. We don't want to inconvenience others, and as she said, we're almost married, and I have four sisters, she has two brothers, so there's nothing we haven't seen..."

The Captain chuckled. "Mr. Morton, you should get together with myself and the other married men, I am certain you can benefit from our advice. For now, should we need either of you, we shall call, but for now, enjoy the rest. However, try not to..." he cleared his throat.

"Not until the wedding night, sir," Arthur replied with a slight smile. "Thank you, however, and have a pleasant evening."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So..." she asked, emerging from the fresher wearing a pair of socks, and an XXL Gotham Knights baseball jersey.

"He said he would call if either of us were needed; invited me to sit down with the married men for advice." He gathered up his own nightwear, adding somewhat sarcastically, "Like when we were 'invited' to Professor Potter's apartment for the same thing. I hope you got more out of it than I did."

"Lots of gossip, but some good psychological advice on husband management," she admitted with a grin and a yawn. He chuckled, and vanished into the fresher.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

He woke briefly, wondering what was tickling his nose, and found his left arm pulled forward into an impromptu hug, tucked under hers, his left leg over her hip. He smiled and went back to sleep.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

She woke briefly, wondering what was on her side, only to find his left arm. She looked up through a fringe of hair at his sleeping face, smiled, and went back to sleep.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

He gently extracted himself, rolling out of bed to use the fresher. On his return, he checked the time, somewhat surprised that they had both slept for almost eighteen hours. She moaned and rolled over, hugging his abandoned pillow, and he stretched, twisting and hearing the crack of bones. He debated returning to bed, but she sprawled across it. Smiling to himself, he quietly ordered a cup of his blackberry tea, and opened his research again.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh..." she moaned, looking up from the bed. He looked over at her, "Good morning, sleepyhead. You're looking much better... err..."

She grinned, "Didn't your sisters ever tell you about that? A woman's ego is much too fragile..." she snorted, then moaned again. "I can't believe I went to bed without my katas or my meditation."

"You needed it, you slept almost twenty hours. It's a little after five thirty," he told her. "Why do you sleep with socks on?"

"My feet get cold, but I can't be under a blanket, unless it's really cold," she admitted. "I'm kinda like Snoopy, sleeping on top all the time." She moved to the edge of the bed, twisting herself and hearing her bones crackle as she stretched, then standing and touching her toes as she asked, "How's the research?"

"Don't let me forget, Sprink gave me your Kryptonian ring to return," he said, replicating a cup of coffee for her. She took a gulp, nodding her thanks, as she entered the fresher.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So... how goes the research?" she asked, tying back her usual braid. She wore the command - yellow bodysuit that went under her uniform and her socks.

* * *

"Right now, we have a dozen planets that we have trade relations with," he replied. "If Sprink's 'frosty blokes' (he finger quoted) sign on, that's an even thirteen, all fairly similar to us, in that they're small populations or somewhat backward, like us. If we include the planets like P'wheel, there will probably be more, all subject to pirate and slaver attack."

"P'wheel is a Class Ten planet," she commented. "Presumably they have a decent system defense navy." She started to apply her makeup, and he said, "You don't have to do that."

"Oh yes I do," she said, turning to look at him. "It goes back to psychology. I am a young, petite female, not only competing with, but having to command alpha males like Senyavin and Gruber." She turned to look at him, "Months ago, when I was first starting this, I was told to 'go home and play with my dollies'. That not only pissed me off, it got me started researching the psychology. I not only have to act more mature than my physical age, I have to have the authority, and I have to maintain it." She waved her makeup brush, "Another difference between male and female. I not only have to work twice as hard as you for half the credit, I have to be tough enough not only to out - alpha the alpha males, but to do it to them subconsciously, so they don't resent it, they simply accept the fact that I have authority over them." She turned back to the mirror, "That's one reason why I don't want to change cabins, my having the Owner's reinforces that."

"That must appeal to your Slytherin side," he commented.

"Yes, and it's something I've been trying to teach Amy. Sprink caught on, but she comes from a long line of Slythies, and has been trying to get across the subtleties to a Ravenclaw." She shrugged and changed brushes. "I can already see Sprink's manipulation of Greywolf. Both of us like Amy, but if she's not careful, she's going to wind up the figurehead for Greywolf."

"What are you learning in Slytherin?" he asked.

"Survival," she replied, changing brushes again. "Slytherin is the smallest house, yet we have more economic and political power than the other three houses combined. We also have an extensive 'snake's network' of contacts throughout Europe and the world. It is much, much easier to pull strings from behind the scenes, not to mention safer. Let the Gryffs charge off and be the white knight, we'll supply the horse, lance and armor, thank you very much." She put down the brush, "That's why this communication snafu bothers me. This is information I should have had, and it smells to me like an attempt at a coup."

"Which is why you've got Piotr looking into it," he said.

"One reason," she said. "My own spies reported various people plotting, Piotr, should he confirm these reports, will allow me to remove them without difficulty." She smiled, "I do like the Russians, they understand the game, the chessboard. It's still early in the game, though." She tidied up the various pots and brushes, then washed her hands, calling from the fresher, "So, what do you have?"

"Remove them?" he asked.

"Asked to resign," she clarified. The drying field hummed, and she emerged, going to her dresser and extracting a fresh jumpsuit. She pulled it to her waist, and motioned to his side of the desk, repeating, "What do you have?"

"With a couple of exceptions, I like the original Sandur legal code," he said. "I think we could adopt it as local law in the colonies, it's similar to what the L - stations use. Where I have difficulties are criminal penalties and suffrage, the right to vote. I think..."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Thursday, June 20, 2002:  
In convoy, **__McCoy__**, Common room: 06:21 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"Good morning, everyone," Mattie said, and an older man looked up from the poker game, returning the greeting. "You're looking much..." and one of the watching women laughed. "Don't go any further, Dr. Fauxton," she warned. "Good morning, Ms. Wayne. The rest was good for you." She bowed, "I am Dr. Wu. Do you mind answering a few questions? We have not had a good briefing."

Returning the bow, Mattie said, "Not at all, but don't let me interrupt the game."

"We'll add to it when we can," Herr Gruber said from the game. "Herr Morton, I am proud of you, an American keeping up in a drinking contest with Germans and Russians. May your liver be as pickled as ours," and he raised his glass, to the chuckles of those watching. "Ask your question, Frau Doktor."

"Firstly, though, what is common knowledge of the subject planet?" Piotr asked.

Dr. Wu nodded. "The planet has three colony sites, two of which were wiped out in a plague about seventy years ago. The third, a fishing village on an offshore island, survived by clamping down a quarantine. The pathogen is transmitted by contact between the carriers, the females, and the victims, the male population. It has resulted in a skewed birth ratio, only thirty percent of the male infants surviving, giving a male population of about eighteen percent."

"A bit more information," Arthur said. "The male population is about 35,000 out of 200,000, and of those females, about 50,000 are slave girls. We have intelligence agents there, our latest information, which is only a few days old, is that we have managed to get samples of what the local Ministry doctors believe is the pathogen." The watching doctors reacted to that, with Dr. Fauxton demanding, "Why wasn't this in our briefing? This changes everything!"

"First, Doctor, we ourselves didn't know it until we happened to meet the incoming ship," Mattie said, returning from the replicator with coffee for herself and tea for Arthur. "Had we the information, you would have received it, but we didn't meet the ship until they were departing Eridani and we were arriving there. Second, the ship's doctors, and the doctors that we have on our Island location, were able to clone this bug. Once we arrive there in a week or so, you'll have samples to play with. Third, the ship's doctors believe this is a dead bug, the only reason it is still being held as a threat is political support for the Island's Council of Elders."

"A matter of public health is being used for political purposes?" Dr. Fauxton said in disbelief.

Dr. Wu snorted, "Drink the tea, Doctor. When hasn't it?" She turned, "Political support?"

"As I see it," Mattie replied, taking a sip of her fresh mug of coffee, "There are three parts to this problem. The first is the 'plague' (she finger-quoted with her free hand), and what kind of threat it still poses. What I will need from the medical team is something that I can hand to the press back home, as well as your professional colleagues, that you have signed off on. We don't have time for this to become a multi-year research project that you can keep milking for grant money. I want to have an answer by the middle of August, and I want supporting evidence and your signatures on it."

"I'm not comfortable with that time line," Dr. Fauxton said. "I'll need much more time than that."

"Then issue a specific disclaimer and sign that," Mattie replied, and he blanched. "The specific points where you disagree and the reasons why. I will hand that to the press also, but I need an answer by the middle of August on this disease, and if we should proceed with colonizing plans. I am not trying to force an answer, but I need to say that the experts from WHO that I have hired have given me a final recommendation."

"If we need more data, or additional equipment?" Dr. Wu asked.

"If I can get the data, I will," Mattie replied. "If you need additional equipment, we'll be stopping at Tosul, an advanced, Class Five world in a few days. Two things to remember, Doctor. We do not have an unlimited budget, and you want to keep the reasons for your shopping obscure. The fact that we have coordinates to what is, essentially, a virgin habitable world that is undefended is worth an enormous amount of money." She looked across the table, "Hauptmann Gruber, will you detail a suitable escort for the good Doctor?"

Dr. Wu looked offended, and Herr Gruber raised a hand, "No offense, Frau Doktor, but I was going to suggest the same thing. This is information that is worth literally billions, and we cannot have it get out. The escort will be for your safety, not to censor you." He looked over the table, "I assume I am the second part, Frau Morton?"

"Yes," she said, a bit surprised at the title. "Hauptmann Gruber is not only military support for the ships, they are also support against hostile wildlife and for my side, the troops the Council commands."

"As part of that meeting," Gruber said, "We learned a great deal about the other two sites, and about the Council. I count myself fortunate that I don't have to deal with them, I am a simple soldier." He played with his cards, "The intelligence ship did a fairly thorough examination of the River site... you have all seen maps, ja?" They nodded, "It appears the local population was evacuated. The site was neat, although dusty. Beds made, food in storage and such, and while they only saw the one large site, it matched with other, smaller homesteads in the area." He took a sip of his beer, "Therefore we assume that the Danube site will be similar, but we must ask ourselves where the people are, and why wasn't the Island site evacuated?"

* * *

"Two things we must remember," Piotr said. "One, the Island's Council of Elders put in an immediate quarantine, under their emergency statutes." He leaned forward, "Second, they then realized that if they _didn't_ evacuate with the others, they would own the entire planet." His gaze swept across the table and the watching, listening people. "They shot down their evacuation shuttle," he finished simply.

There was a stunned silence except for people idly playing with poker chips and cards. "You have supporting documentation on all this, I presume?" Dr. Fauxton asked finally.

* * *

"On a good percentage of it," Piotr said. "The rest can be extrapolated based on the Council's known personality types and psychological profiles. They have a nice little oligarchy, although there is no single ruling political party. For instance, only the property-owning males have a vote. The female majority does not. A quarter of their population, and their criminal code, is oriented toward slavery and the Council's propaganda machine is designed to keep the female population feeling survivor's guilt, that they not only survived the plague, but that they _caused_ it."

"This brings things back to me, and the third part," Mattie said. "The Council has kept rule under that state of emergency for the last seventy years. I get to deal with them, the Council Guard, and the political and economic situation, hopefully without too much bloodshed." She took a sip of her coffee, "Physically, the locals are fairly small, but strong for their size. The females are about five feet, one point five meters, the males about one point six or seven. As far as we know, the Council Guard is all female, so I'm going to get as many of the Hauptmann's hulking, oversize men as he'll let me have. This is a psychological operation, when they confront a Council Guard, they won't respect their personal space. They won't touch them, they won't start anything, but they will be instructed to crowd and intimidate the Guard, they will have personal arms and they can defend themselves." She motioned with her mug hand, "Since the Council Guard's been used as the Elder's head breakers and thugs instead of street cops, we'll see how they like the treatment. We need to break the Guard's morale, so they either escalate or step aside."

"If they escalate?"

"They have nightsticks," the Hauptmann said dismissively. "We have no intelligence on their having anything heavier. We, on the other hand, have highly trained, combat ready Special Forces troops that are all experienced martial artists, air support, armored vehicles, and heavy machine guns. Let them escalate."

"In addition, our new intelligence source has given me a few new tactical options," Mattie said. "The Elders meet in secret, behind closed doors, with no public information. We'll be orbiting weather satellites as well as our own navigation and data satellites."

"What do weather satellites have to do with the Council? I thought there was an existing, non-functional satellite network," Arthur asked.

"Even if we can re-activate their satellites, we don't want to, it gives the Council control over the message," his almost-wife replied. "We're going to pick up a few large screen TV's in Tosul, and drop the feed from the weather satellites to them. Most of the political power is centered on the island's High Town. We're going to set up the TV's so passer-by can watch live weather, we're also going to have a pretty girl read the Information Ministry's newspaper, we want to get them involved, get them to not only authorize this, but to endorse it. It gives them another propaganda channel. That coverage is going to shift from supportive to critical when we get Elder Zuunti on camera." She motioned with her coffee mug, "The weather draws the passer-by in to watch, then they can hear and see Elder Zuunti make a fool of himself." She smiled sweetly, "I do hope he over-reacts with the Council Guard on live TV. It will let the Hauptmann's troops humiliate the Guard."

"And once the first Guard raises her nightstick, we can claim self defense," Piotr said, nodding. "Then a coup?"

"No, no," Mattie said. "A coup, no matter how bloodless, would make martyrs of the Council. We want the population to think 'good riddance' as the Elders escape to their island hideouts. Look at how many people in Russia still revere Stalin, and he killed a lot more people than the Elders have."

"You assume the Elders have a hideout," Dr. Fauxton said.

Piotr laughed as Mattie smiled slightly and replied, "Doctor, you forget who we're dealing with. Each of the five Elders no doubt has at least one fully-stocked hideaway, and a hidden boat to get him there."

"In addition," Piotr said, "Their personal bodyguard has no doubt been assured that they would be evacuated with the Elder, no doubt to secure their loyalty. I doubt they actually would be, as they would quickly realize that they outnumbered one old man." He shook his head, "No, Doctor, Hitler had his Bavarian retreat, no doubt each of the Elders has picked out a nice little island that's all ready for them." He took a sip of his own drink, "If we can find those boats, we can plant some tracking devices and other toys on them," he said reflectively. "It gives us a few options to not only find their hideaways, but also to disable the boats if we wish."

"How so?" Arthur asked, while considering possibilities.

"Hypothetically," Piotr mused. "Hypothetically, Mr. Morton, one of the Elders escapes and sails his boat into a nice, hidden cove. Now, if we are able to plant a covert tracking device on it, we will know exactly where he is. We can give him a day or so to unload his supplies, have a drink or two and relax. At this point, Herr Gruber and his men can land and do anything we need, from arresting the Elder to disabling or sinking his boat, or simply leaving him. If he has a slave girl or two, we can arrange for them to disappear into the jungle, for instance." He tapped his cards into alignment, "Many, many options for us, Frau Morton."

Dr. Wu asked, "How would you disable the boat without sinking it?"

"Several options," one of the ship's crew replied. "Plastic explosive to break the propeller shaft, or we could cause it to beach itself on a reef or sandbar. Depending on where it was moored, we could hole one of the compartments. Anything to cause damage that he cannot repair."

"Getting back to the TV's, at this point, we start to report on the real information behind the plague, using the Council's classified records. They tell us the plague happened at a harvest festival," Mattie said. "As part of that festival, men ate and drank different foods than the women did. That festival hasn't been held since, nor has a recurrence of the plague happened."

"Now I can see that," Dr. Wu said. "If a grain shipment was somehow contaminated, or a fungus or microbe in the water supply or yeast. That makes much more sense to me than an airborne agent." Some of the other doctors nodded.

Mattie took a swallow of her coffee, "Since the actual plague happened so long ago, there are probably very few people still alive from when it happened. That makes it easy for the Ministry of Information to 'edit' (she finger-quoted) the history books. From what our spies tell me, the locals believe it is an airborne agent, which is why they require breath masks. If you remove the stated reason for the masks, and the reason the local slaves are kept gagged, it removes the Council's stated reason for maintaining power under the emergency statutes."

"That means that someone will risk going in public without her mask, getting her a collar," Arthur said, adding to the others, "Everyone is required to wear them, especially the women. They look like the surgical masks you see on TV reruns. If you don't wear them, you're fined, or the women are convicted of endangering the public health, and collared as a slave."

"Her decision, but we'll cover her 'trial' (she finger-quoted), live, and provide legal assistance for her," Mattie said. "Depending on the judge, she may be convicted, but it will set a legal precedent, and if necessary, we'll 'buy' her." She took a gulp of coffee, "The local collars are just iron bands, crimped in place. They're not invasive like a galactic collar, but even if she gets one of those, we can remove it. All of this will cause the local population to question the Council."

"It makes the local population your chessboard," Dr. Fauxton declared with a frown.

"Yes, it does," Mattie replied levelly. "It takes longer than a simple military coup, too. However, a coup would require our maintaining occupation troops, it make us the enemy of the locals, and would lead to an insurgency, if not a civil war. Overall, Dr. Fauxton, we can have the locals suffer a little short-term pain and make their own democratic government, or we can have long-term military occupation, resentment of our presence, an insurrection, sabotage, and civil war." She sipped her coffee, "Doctor, I could land, throw the Elders in front of a firing squad, and install myself as Queen, with total power. That changes one dictator for another, and I don't want to do that. Despite what people may think, I don't want to be Queen. If the Elders leave, sail off into the sunset, good riddance. We want to politically, socially castrate them, not kill them. We can do that by extending the vote to... Arthur?"

"I've been looking into the legal issues," he started. "Now, I'm not a lawyer, but I've gotten advice from several attorneys that Mattie knows, and I've been lucky that the original code was written in plain language. The original code is also fairly similar to the code that we're using on the colonies and stations in the Terran system, the major difference is criminal punishment. We have exile, they have enslavement." Arthur took a sip of his tea, "Objectively, for an isolated colony world, exile would be close to a death sentence, and it would deprive the colony of whatever skills the convict had. Also, the colony would not have the resources to simply lock up a convict and let them rot. Much better to let them work off their debt, and slaves here do have some rights, including the right to own property like bank accounts, and to appeal their lessors."

"Lessor?" Dr. Fauxton asked.

"Judicial slaves, which are the vast majority, are owned by the Ministry for the duration of their sentence, and leased out," he replied. "Where things have gotten sidetracked is the Council began using the criminal code for political ends." He raised his free hand, "I know, it happens on Earth too. However, if we're going to make this society a bit more fair and install a democracy, we're going to need to get more people involved. Unfortunately, we can't simply extend universal suffrage, much as I'd like to, we have to take smaller steps." He took a swallow of his blackberry tea, "What I've been working on is a reversion to the original criminal code, and extending the vote to free females. Even on Terra, criminals don't have the vote, but by reducing the number of crimes that can give a collar, we should be able to retroactively free a number of slaves."

"That's something of a leap of faith," Dr. Wu said.

"Yes, it is," Arthur replied. "I would prefer to completely eliminate slavery, instead of this gradual approach. However, most families on the island have had at least one daughter collared, they try to buy, sorry, lease her if they can. By giving the vote to their free sisters, they have a better chance of reverting to the original legal code, and it would be less socially disruptive."

"Criminals still need to be punished," Dr. Fauxton declared.

"Yes, they do," Arthur agreed. "Crimes like theft or fighting, but I think we can do some form of public work, with distinctive clothing, like the old prison stripes, or bright green tunics. There's such a thing as a tracking collar, it locks on instead of implanting it in the neck like a slave collar. Have them pick up trash or sweep streets."

"The humiliation would be a deterrent," Dr. Wu said. "I'm certainly glad that we have people that are experienced in overthrowing governments. I did have a question about the proposed agricultural settlements. What kind of medical care will they have?"

"Er, we hadn't really looked into that..." Mattie confessed. "I apologize, Doctor. I missed that. I assume we would have some more doctors from Cuba..."

"There are about... what? A dozen or so sites?" Dr. Fauxton said.

"We've got that many universities signed up now, fifteen as I recall," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "We're figuring on maybe fifty people per farm."

"Too many for a farm that is between five and twenty square kilometers," one of the soldiers said. "A dozen or two people, for each, perhaps." He played with his poker chips, "Frau Morton, you are not a farm girl."

"No, I'm not. Gotham City, born and raised in the concrete jungle."

He grunted, "I was raised on a farm in Lower Saxony. If you wish, I will look over your plans, Frau Morton."

"I would appreciate that, Herr..."

"Schop, Johann Schop, Frau Morton." He sat up, "I would suggest two or three of each farm be trained in advanced first aid. Most of the injuries are a variety of cut or bruising, bites, or a broken bone. Aside from that, we can take a page from the Australians, who have a flying doctor's service. They fly a regular route, and can be summoned for anything more serious, and fly the injured to a central hospital. In addition, a veterinarian and dentist can be added to the aircraft, which is outfitted as a small medical office." He looked at the Chinese doctor, "Would that be suitable, Frau Doktor?"

"I believe any vehicles should have a suitable kit, and we need to look into poisonous animals and the antidotes," she mused. "If I recall correctly, the central River site had a small airfield, and there may be a hospital there. It recalls the barefoot doctors on the collective farms," she said with a small smile. "When we get to Tosul, I will look into emergency medicine. That would work, Herr Schop, and I thank you."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Thursday, June 20, 2002:  
**__**Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle, neighborhood meeting: 18:20 (GMT -5) **__**  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"...That's the situation," Selina said. "Graft and corruption has gotten completely out of control in Ecuador. When I went through there, I had the same problems that your son, Mike, encountered. Unfortunately, we still need a location within a few degrees of the equator for a planetary base, to ship cargo to and from orbit."

One neighbor asked, "They didn't flag on your name, Mrs. Wayne?"

"I used my maiden name, Selina Kyle," she replied. "I was assessed over two hundred dollars in false 'landing fees', 'handling fees', 'departure fees', and so forth. I was also overcharged for plain chicken soup in the concourse restaurant. It wasn't even very good."

* * *

Selina sat back, taking a sip of her wine. "The only other real choice we have is Mombasa, Kenya. It has the advantage of a stable government, a good port and airport facilities, and the Indian Ocean to the east. The Kenyan Army has kept Somali raiders out, however, it has the _disadvantages_ of that ongoing civil war in Somalia to the north, a drug trade operating out of Ethiopia, and pirates operating out of Somalia and in the Indian Ocean."

She tented her fingers, "Once I left Ecuador, I flew to Nairobi, in Kenya, I rode on the train to Mombasa. Fourteen hours. I didn't have any real problems, there was a good bit of security. There was also some, but not a lot, of minor graft and bribery. The Kenyan government has made an issue of that, their biggest problem regarding corruption is with government ministers overpaying for contracts, primarily with French firms. They really want international trade, in order to land IMF and World Bank loans and guarantees they've cracked down hard."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't have a recommendation," one person said.

"I recommended to the Guard's Board that they give Ecuador until the end of August to clean up their act. I don't think they can, corruption starts from the top down. They'll probably execute some flunkies and call the problem solved. Personally, I'd rather have two facilities and let them compete for business, but at this point, we don't really need planetary hubs for passenger service to orbit. DHL needs a hub for shipping freight through Greywolf, but they could use one they have in Rome." She sat back, her wine glass tented in her hands. "I wanted to let you know, let your family members know we may be making an example of Ecuador." Selina drained her glass, "And now that I've taken up your evening, it's time for me to get to my hotel."

"Nonsense," Maggie said. "You're staying with us tonight, and I won't hear differently."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Friday, June 21, 2002:  
**__**Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle, Morton kitchen: 07:40 (GMT -5) **__**  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

Selina's phone rang as Teela handed her the coffee. "Good morning, Anne! How's MIT this fine morning?" She propped the phone on her shoulder as she listened, scooping out the coffee into the paper filter. "No, I'm sure that's going to be fine, dear. No, I had some traveling to do, and I'm in Columbus, with Arthur's family." She put a pinch of salt in the coffee, handing it to Teela. "I can come by, it's not a problem if you want me to, dear. No, I have to be traveling up that way to DC. No, that's a nickname for Washington, the national capital. Not at all, dear. No, Arthur's got four sisters, Julie you know, and Elena went off with him. The other two are Becky, I think you met her at the Quidditch... yes, she's the one with a son, Carson, and Teela's here in the kitchen with me." She raised an eyebrow, who nodded. "Certainly, here she is," and handed the phone over.

"Hi, Anne! No, I'm Teela, the artistic one." Julie had come in, and was pulling down coffee mugs while the machine gurgled. She asked Selina, "Mrs. Wayne, do you need anything?"

"Nothing dear, black with some sugar is fine," she said quietly. "How are you enjoying the summer?"

"A little jealous of Arthur, I would have loved to go," she admitted.

"Give us time, dear, give us time. How's Hogwarts? I don't hear as much as I'd like, although Mattie and Tomas do write... excuse me." She took the phone back, "Hello again, Anne. No, I can be there later today if you'd like me to. That's fine, I'll call you from the airport. No, really, it's not a problem, dear. That's why I'm here. Yes, please call me anytime. Right. I'll see you in a few hours. Bye." The coffeepot stopped gurgling, and she dropped her phone into a pocket, then stood, but Teela beat her to the coffee, shooing her back down.

"I'd like to hear about Hogwarts, too, and you were going to send me photos," she told Julie as she lined the coffee mugs up and started to pour. "We have a pattern we use for everyone's mugs, you're in Elena's place," she informed Mrs. Wayne. "Why the salt, though?"

"It's Navy coffee, it's how they brew it at the Pentagon," Selina said. "Just half a lump or so, please. That's fine. Is Arthur the only tea-drinker?"

"So far," Maggie said, nodding with approval at her daughters. She yawned a bit, "Excuse me."

"So why are you going to DC?" Julie asked.

"Foreign affairs committee for the Arrowhead bill, and the House Impeachment Committee has asked me to testify." She took a sip of coffee, sighed, and sat back. "I'd rather not go, but it's important to Mattie, and..." she took another sip of coffee, setting the mug down on the saucer with a click, "...Luthor is not one of my favorite people, especially after he tried to kill my daughter."

"Delicately understated, and perfectly understandable," Maggie said.

"It's still kinda... you know, wow," Teela said. Selina raised her eyebrow, "My dear, I drive an eighteen-year old Ford station wagon, and put my shoes on just like you do. Just because I have a few extra zeros in my checking account does not mean I drive a million-dollar car." She turned to face Teela, "I've always believed education is the key, making use of what you've been given." She waggled her cell phone, "Just because you're not a physicist does not make you less valuable. An artist nourishes the soul, dear, like a teacher opens the mind of her class. Before Mattie went to Hogwarts, she went to a private girl's prep school in Gotham called Cresswell Academy. After she was..." she grinned ruefully, "...outed on live TV, she got a letter from her former classmates, I was more than happy to help them, I've even met with the class at a pizza joint. They had a proposal, I sat and ate gooey cheeze pizza and talked to them for over two hours." She took another swallow of coffee, "Those girls are why I'm meeting with Senators. They have an excellent idea, and a workable plan, but they want to form their corporation in Gotham, instead of doing it in Toronto, and while there are several students in that class from upper-income homes, the majority are there on scholarship with the Wayne Foundation and the Gotham City Police."

Julie asked, "Gotham City Police?"

"One of their parents were killed in the line of duty," Selina said. "The least Bruce and I could do with those extra zeros was to see to those children's education." She regarded Teela, "It doesn't get publicized, we don't want it to be. When you see those bubble-headed athletes and actors who do nothing but drink and snort drugs, ask what they're doing with their money. Is that who you want to emulate?"

Bill came in, "Shower's free! What'd I miss?"

"It looks like I'm going to miss my morning run," Selina said with a smile. "I understand you're up to five miles, I would have liked to join you."

"Yeah, Mattie said she'd get me ready for the Boston marathon," he replied. "Working on it!"

"Um, Mrs. Wayne, I thought you had a track..." Teela said hesitantly.

"Eight kilometers," Selina said. "There's still a difference between a track and road training. I'll make a deal with you, Bill. You run the next London half marathon with Mattie, I'll fly your family across the Pond and run it with you." She offered her hand, "Deal?"

"Yeah!"

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Friday, June 21, 2002:  
Cambridge, MIT Housing, lobby: 14:27 (GMT -5)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"Good afternoon, I'm Selina Wayne," she told the student on desk duty. "I'm here to see Anne Bundy." The young man pointed into the depths of the lounge, "She's depressed about something, but she won't say."

"Thank you," she replied, then walked over to the ratty couch, "Anne?"

With a sob, the girl threw herself into her arms.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I hath done a very bad thing..." Anne confessed after she ran down a bit. "Today doth be... is... WAS..." she sniffled, "...the day my youngest brother dies. I dids't see it in my father's journal, his horse was spooked, and his foot was caught, he was dragged..." Selina folded her in her arms and let her cry, as Merritt the housemother came up with some herbal tea, and whispered, "What's wrong?"

"Her youngest brother's dead," she whispered in reply, Merritt nodded once and withdrew, shooing the others out as Selina helped Anne with the tea. The cup rattled in the saucer, Selina reached to steady it, gently asking, "What was the bad thing you did?"

The cup rattled again, "I... I doth sent them a letter, I dids't tell them everything." She tried the tea again, again Selina steadied it. "'Twas the letter I had written them that I knew I could never send, in which I told them all." She took a deep breath, "All I had wished to tell them, what 'tis to come, what I hath been doing, the wonders of this world... Everything, and I hath... I hath killed billions in the doing."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Selina helped her again with the tea, gently asking, "How accurate is the spell you use? Time and place?"

"'Tis a mark on my... on the kitchen hearth," she replied, teacup rattling. "I doth think 'tis the best I can get, the location doth vary a few centimeters, and I doth be within an hour of my six o'clock target. Why doth that matter? I hath killed billions!" she cried, throwing the teacup down.

"Shhh..." Selina soothed. "We just ask them to burn that letter unopened, they can confirm through Headmistress Oldridge and Hogwarts. That will keep the timeline safe... we just send them a letter to yesterday, asking them to burn today's letter, you can send them another one..." she stroked Anne's back as Merritt appeared with another cup of tea. Selina whispered, "Paper and envelope, we need to write a letter." She helped Anne with the new cup of tea, asking gently, "How difficult is the spell?"

"'Tis not difficult, doth require privacy... woulds't thou assist me?"

"Of course, dear, may I add something to your letter? Just to let them know I'm there for you."

"Cert, 'twould be appreciated."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Wednesday, June 19, 1381: (Julian)  
London, The Strand, Bundy estate, kitchen: 05:02  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

With a flare of golden light, a crisp white envelope appeared, startling Elizabeth. Warily, she picked it up, in the upper left there was black text reading 'Massachusetts Institute of Technology' with what she guessed was an address below. She turned it to open, a flap was tucked in. Extracting a letter, she read:

_21 June, 2002_

_Dearest mother and father, _

* * *

_Thou shalt be receiving a thick letter from me tomorrow. Prithee, I beg of you, __DESTROY IT UNOPENED AND UNREAD__. Prithee send a note to Headmistress Oldridge when thou hast burnt it up, I shall send you a letter of explanation in three days. _

_Thy loving daughter,  
Anne _

Below that, in a different hand, was another note:

_Mr. and Mrs. Bundy,  
My daughter Martha visited your time (Headmistress Oldridge can tell you) last year. I've been serving as Anne's surrogate mother while she visited. Please destroy, unopened, the letter you will receive tomorrow, sending confirmation through Headmistress Oldridge. Anne will send a letter of explanation. _

_Selina Wayne  
6/21/2002 _

"Anne, Anne, what hath thy done?" Elizabeth sat at her spotless table, shaking her head. The only sound was the crackle of the fire, "We shalt destroy thy letter, though it breaks our hearts to do so."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Friday, June 21, 2002:  
Cambridge, MIT Housing, 3rd floor kitchen: 16:39 (GMT -5)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"Now, Anne," Selina sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, hands wrapped around the younger girls. "We have step one done, what we need to do is to call Headmistress McGonagall to check and see what your parents have done."

"'Twill be late, and you hath a meeting..." Anne feebly objected.

Selina tossed that off, "I've given them a call when you were setting up for the spell, and told them there was a personal emergency. Don't worry about them, and it would only be nine P.M. for Minerva. Wouldn't you rather know right now?" Anne nodded with a faint "Aye..." and Selina pulled out her phone. "Let's give her a call."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hello, Minerva, it's Selina! I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I'm here in Boston with Anne, she ran into a bit of a problem with a spell, and I'm helping out. We need to know if her parents sent her a letter in the next few days. Certainly, I'll give you to her now..." and she handed over her phone, "She was in bed, she has to go downstairs to her office."

Taking the phone, Anne waited, "Aye, Professor. 1381, the twentieth of June or thereabouts." Several of the students, including a noteworthy blonde were silently watching. "Aye, please do so..." and she closed her eyes, whispering a prayer as she listened. Blowing out her breath, "Thanks be... Aye, that be what I had hoped for. My thanks, Professor, and sorry for disturbing thy rest." She thumbed off the phone, handing it back and putting her head in shaking hands. "They dids't tear it in twain, then burnt it, and included the remains."

Selina pushed over the cup of tea, "I'll leave you to write a suitable letter of explanation to them. Remember, day after tomorrow."

"Aye..." she said, then embraced Selina. "Thank you..."

"My dear, don't worry about it," Selina said with a smile. "That's what mothers do." She pointed at the table, "Now write them a letter they can read safely." She turned, and her smile disappeared at the view of the spectators, and she pointed at the door.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Closing the door, she leveled a glare at the students. "Anne received some upsetting news about the death of her youngest brother, and over-reacted." She glanced at Karen, "I suggest you take the next day off, she wrote a letter home she shouldn't." Karen's eyes were wide with horror, Selina said, "It's handled, and I'll call the University President and get you both excused from classes until Monday. Go take care of your sister." Karen edged past, and Selina's gaze swept over them. In a low voice, she said, "If I hear of one thing, just one small thing that anyone does to Anne, I will make it my business to make the rest of your lives a living, breathing hell. I don't care if you get straight A's here, you won't be able to find a job mopping floors. Does anyone doubt me?"

"No, ma'am," Chantal Rivers said quietly.

"Good," Selina purred.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

In the stairway, Merritt addressed the group, "Does anyone doubt Mrs. Wayne? She blew off the U.S. Senate in order to be here with Anne. She does not screw around on things, I have no intention of hurting Anne, and she almost made _me_ wet myself."

"Um, that's Selina Wayne, the widow of Bruce Wayne, in case you missed it," Chantal said. "She fuckin' _owns_ Gotham City? That's the former Catwoman sitting up there drinking tea, she hangs with the JLA, with Queens and Prime Ministers." She shuddered, "She _did_ make me wet myself, anyone that knows Superman, as in sees him _socially_, she probably has him on _speed-dial_..." She shook her head, "No fricking way. Karen says that her school has an unofficial motto, '_Don't fuck with Wayne_,' and I _believe_ it. Oh my God, do I believe it."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Friday, June 21, 2002:  
Terran system, **__Olentangy__**, flight deck: 19:54 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

Mike made a small correction, then hit the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present for your viewing enjoyment off the port side, the planet Jupiter, complete with Great Red Spot. Thank you for flying Olentangy." He returned to his email:

* * *

_To: Mom & Dad  
CC: Mr. Pearce, Mrs. Morton  
From: Mike  
Date: 21 June, 2002  
Subject: Jupiter_

* * *

_We're on a slow pass by Jupiter, I just 'flipped' the ship so she's flying on her 'back'. The port side of the common room is primarily glass, so we can look out and watch the passing heavens. You can look and watch the Great Red Spot slowly swirling from here, even though we're nowhere near closest approach. _

_We got through the asteroid belt OK, I would have been surprised if we hadn't. So far, my math is matching the ship's, I calculate by hand, then check against the ship's coordinate display. I've velcro'd over that with a bit of spare cloth, to keep myself from cheating. We should make Titan orbit in about a week. _

_When we do, the fun starts. We have a sample return lander, and it's going to require all four of us to do this right. Hank is __fairly__ sure he's found the squirrelly problem with the tractor beam, but we'll find out. The way this is going to work, Hank disengages the lander from storage, and Mr. Morton in his pod flies it to a closer orbit so it can reach our claim. He releases it, and returns to the Olentangy, while Misty 'flies' it down to the claim, which is on a large lake or sea of something. She gets it as close to the surf as possible without dunking it, then extends a hose to suck some of it up. While it's doing that, she has a micro-bot go out and dig some dirt and rock up, and dump it in a hopper, which is transferred to the recovery sphere. A pump sucks in some atmosphere, stores that, along with some lake-stuff. Compressed air fills a couple of lifting balloons, it flies up, fires a small rocket (escape velocity is only 2.6km/s, and the atmosphere has two percent methane), and hopefully, if everything goes right, the transponder and the tractor beam work, Hank snags it with the tractor while Mr. Morton waits with a big net in his pod. He nets it, returns to the Olentangy, and we break orbit. _

_While we're on our way to Uranus, Misty goes EVA and secures the return sphere. If we miss snagging it with the tractor, or the net, or the net gets away... well, Titan gets a new satellite. Oops. _

_Well, that's about it for now, but Mr. Pearce, did you __have__ to tell the Principal about my trip? God, how embarrassing! _

_Mike _

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Monday, June 24, 2002:  
Washington, DC, Russell Senate Office Building: 10:49 (GMT -5)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"Senator, Mrs. Wayne is here..."

A few seconds later, a side door opened, and the smiling white haired Senior Senator ushered her in.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We do appreciate your stopping by," the tall, slim Senator said, sipping from a large Cleveland Browns coffee mug. "This is just an informal meeting to clear the air, ask a few questions, and..." he waved the mug a bit, "... I confess to a bit of awe. After all, it isn't often that one gets to host a member of the JLA."

"Reserve member, George," another Senator said with a laugh, putting down an Oakland A's cup. "How do you take your coffee, and I'm Barbara, may I call you Selina?"

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Actually, since we all serve on multiple committees, we're not at risk of accidentally having a quorum," George replied to Selina's question. "Keep the mug, by the way, those aren't available in the gift shop, and I know your daughter Martha collects them."

"Yes, she's got quite a collection," Selina said, regarding the gold leaf on the large white, heavy U.S. Senate mug. She took a sip from it, then cradled it, "What can I do for you?"

"We understand she's off planet now?" Barbara asked, and Selina nodded. "She is apparently quite the diplomat, we, or rather Arrowhead has trade agreements with, I believe, eight other planets."

"A dozen is what I've heard from Her Majesty, and she's working on resolving the colonization problems with another. That's as of about three days ago," Selina corrected, taking another sip of the excellent coffee.

Barbara raised her mug to her lips, taking a measured sip, then said, "One concern that I've had expressed is that Arrowhead, the Guard holds the high ground, the orbitals I believe they're called." She sighed, confessing, "I must say I have some concerns about that, especially after the way this government has treated your family."

"Please accept our apologies for that," George said, leaning forward. "I know that in your daughter's shoes, I would have been very tempted to do something."

"Like drop a rock?" Selina asked with a small smile.

"Or something else," her host said. "Mrs. Wayne, I've heard some things that disturb me about equipment the Guard is developing. Very small, compact and powerful weapons, non-nuclear weapons." He waved a hand, "I'm not concerned about the nuclear recycling program, I'd like for us to get in on it. I'm fully satisfied with the UN oversight and the open information on it. I think it was a mistake to shut down our own recycling facility."

"What do you mean, Dick?" Barbara asked.

"I am known for being blunt, Mrs. Wayne, so I'll just say it. Antimatter?" he asked. "Please reassure me that something the size of a pea, with the explosive force of sixty megatons is not going to go off in one of our cities."

* * *

"I am the wrong person to ask, Senator," Selina replied. "As you're blunt, so shall I be. I know my daughter, though, and she would have been extremely cautious about the manufacture and handling of this, even if it exists. She would regard that, or an orbital kinetic weapon as a weapon of mass murder. To employ that, even with extreme provocation, such as the murder of her relatives (the Senators looked embarrassed), would be a line she would be extremely reluctant to cross. Quite frankly, I cannot think of a reason grave enough for her to cross that line. However, should she decide it was her duty, with no other options available, she would cross that line." She took a sip of coffee, "Senator, as I understand it, those weapons are designed as system defense weapons, as the warheads on a ship's missiles, or minefields in the outer system. In that purpose, she is fulfilling her duty as _Damiyo_, to defend the system against attack." Leaning forward, she asked, "Why don't you ask the British or the Russians those same questions? They have submarines, ships with nukes, what's to prevent them from launching on Norfolk, or Chicago, or DC? There's an element of trust, isn't there?" She regarded them in silence, "The way I see it, trust has to be earned. Why should we trust you?" She gathered her coat and purse, "Good day. I'll see myself out."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, THAT went well," Barbara said sarcastically. She toyed with Selina's abandoned mug, "I'm afraid she's right," she added, turning the mug in circles. "We have to earn some trust back. Dick, I'm going to call a straw vote on the Arrowhead bill."

"I agree, and I'm also going to ask everyone to strip off their earmarks," the senior senator agreed. "Show of hands? In favor of the bill?" He counted noses, "Good enough. Joe, you'll take care of getting your people on board? It would be nice to be unanimous."

The senator from Delaware nodded. "On a related note, what about SECSTATE going to visit Cuba?"

"We can bury some amendments to sort that out," Barbara replied. She raised her hand, "Shall I tell him that we won't object?" Noses were again counted, and she nodded. "Last thing," and she fished out a Sharpie from her purse. She signed the large white mug, then passed it left.

George nodded. "Good idea. I'll send it to Mrs. Wayne with a note." He checked his watch, then signed the mug. "Anyone for a round at Burning Tree?"

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Tuesday, June 25, 2002:  
Tosul, **__McCoy__**, Bay 3042: 13:31 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"Pardon, Madame Morton?" Lumi de Galais asked as Mattie entered the common room. Arthur suppressed a wince, the whole crew was addressing them as if they were married. With a French accent, she continued, "Captain Senyavin asked to see you as soon as possible."

"Merci," she replied. "I shall see him immediately."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"Our people at Port Lincoln sent a ship several weeks ago to Tosul," the Captain informed them. "The _Esentasse_. There were several enhanced slaves aboard for medical treatment, and they were going to pick up some additional cargo, spare parts for computer equipment. They're overdue, we received a message to check on them." He swiveled in his bridge chair, "They apparently ran low on funds, there are several liens placed on them and on the ship." Tenting his fingers, "Tosul is an extremely... litigious society, on the recommendation of the Portmaster, we have a local legal firm on retainer. Would you handle this? One of the firm's attorneys is waiting outside."

* * *

"Of course," she replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Captain H'ress?" Mattie asked the rather ragged looking feline. "I'm Ms. Wayne, I believe we met on the Eunomia base?"

"Yesss," she said, making an effort to groom herself. "We mussst retrieve my ssslaves before they are sssold off."

"That is our next stop," the rather fussy little man, their temporary attorney said.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"5756... here we are, 5756 through 5760, inclusive," the guard said, indicating the four clear tubes. Each one held a bound, white-hooded slave girl, one with white-blonde hair, one with black, and two with grey hair, all with judicial collars. The attorney passed over the chip indicating satisfaction of lien, and the guard studied it. He ejected it, passing it back, "I've made a copy, of course, and their bills are up-to-date." He pulled a tool from his belt, and applied it to the first tube, adding as the cover unlocked, "Their hoods..."

"...must be returned before they depart the system," the fussy little man finished. He commented to Arthur, "It is simpler to remove them now."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"So what happened?" Mattie asked aboard the _Esentasse_. The four girls traded glances, then Frax cleared her throat, "Mistress, we..."

"No 'Mistress', please," Mattie interrupted.

* * *

"We do not have a choice, mistress," Z'hann, the black-haired girl with the tattoos of a Healer Third said, tapping her Enhancement implant. "I had a dark collar, but my hip implant still read slave. The local courts determined that it was an escape attempt on my part, even though Mistress H'ress argued in my favor. That is why I wear a judicial collar, our spare funds were drained by legal and court fees. As far as the others..."

"We already wore judicial collars, mistress," Frax said, eying Arthur, who grunted.

"Well, we should have two other ships here in a few days, to pick up various supplies. We can all four join a convoy back to Windfall," Mattie replied. She pointed at Frax, "I'd like to speak to you in private for a few minutes outside. Would you excuse us?"

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Frax knelt in the shade as Mistress Wayne paced. She looked over, and said, "Damn it, stand up, Ashley, like a free person does." Blinking, she stood, saying softly, "I'd almost forgotten that name, mistress."

"Please don't use that term, Ms. Nicheyev. It's offensive to see you use it, and don't give me that bullshit about how your Enhancement forces you. I read the report Mr. Nigma filed on you. You can disable that if you want to." She crossed her arms and regarded the naked, collared blonde, who opened and closed her mouth.

"All right..." The blonde's eyes crossed for a second, then she shook herself and crossed her own arms under her breasts. Shifting her stance, she asked, "What are you going to do with me, Ms. Wayne?"

"We're all going to Windfall, but after that, when we leave, you're coming back with us to Earth."

"No. I don't want to," Ashley replied, softly but vehemently. "I'm happy there, I have family there..."

"You're a god-damn SLAVE there!"

"Yes, I'm wearing a collar..."

"MY collar! The one I forced you into! The one that..."

"NO! I bloody well deserve it!"

"Like hell you..."

"I stowed away!" Ashley hissed. "I'm a criminal, I couldn't pay the fare!"

"Yes, you did!" Mattie snarled. "That tenner was worth more than enough tungsten for your fare! I owe you! I never wanted you to have a slave collar!" She took a step, "Damn it, Ashley, I misfigured the fare you would pay, and by the time I realized it..."

"I was in a collar," Ashley, now Frax declared, stepping forward and tugging on it. "It doesn't bloody matter! Edward needed an uncollared female, I was available, and I had stowed away, looking for a collar!" Mattie recoiled as Frax continued, "I was tired, so tired. I'm happy, I'm comfortable, I'm stress-free. Why can't you let me be? You don't owe me anything!"

"But I collared you! I own you! You're a slave, my slave, and I don't want to own you!" Mattie begged. "Please, let me fix my mistake! Come with me back to Earth!"

"No, I can't, don't you understand that I'm dead there? That I'm happy being Frax, the collared slave girl? That Ashley Nicheyev is dead and buried? Please, just let me be?" She turned, putting a hand on the smaller girl's shoulder as she leaned on one hand on the bay's concrete wall. "Please, just return me to Windfall. Let me go home?"

Turning, Mattie leaned against the wall, "You're happy in the collar, in..." she gestured, "... that belt?"

"Mustn't forget my tail," she replied with a smile, pulling it out. "I like my belt, it's nice and tight, the only things I object to are these breast chains and the bells on my nips," she added, running a hand along them. "I wore tighter chastity belts in London. Please, let me stay?" she begged.

Eyes closed in pain, Mattie said, "We're all going back to Windfall in a few days, when the other ships get here. We'll be leaving Windfall for Earth around mid-August. I want to take you with us, Ashley." She gave a great sigh, and opened her eyes, "There's no reason we can't give you another name, and you can return as a free woman, we may colonize the planet. If we do, we'll need someone like you, but as a free woman." She held up a hand, "Please, Ashley, you've got almost two months to decide if you want to be a free woman, or a groveling slave girl. At least give me that?"

"Ashley's dead and buried," the blonde replied softly. "Mid-August? What is it now?"

"Fourth week in June, the twenty-fifth."

Frax made a soft sound. "Colonize? That far along?" She sighed, "I'll give you an answer, but this has been a holiday for me. I'm fundamentally lazy, y'see," she confessed with a grin. Taking a breath, her eyes crossed again, "Back to being the collared wench, mistress," she said, and Mattie groaned.

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Tuesday, June 25, 2002:  
Eridani III, Spacedock, **__M/V Ben Nevis__**: 16:30 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

"All personnel accounted for?" Captain Alvarez asked as she entered her bridge.

* * *

"All personnel aboard, the cargo from the _McCoy_ is stowed, shuttles are docked, and bills are paid, ma'am," First Officer Murdock said. "Ready for departure in all respects," he added as he vacated the command chair. He stood to one side, smoothing down his new white uniform as Gloria took her seat.

* * *

"Helm, take us out. Comm, are we in contact with the _Fuller_?"

* * *

"Oui, madame," Lise de Galais replied. "Madame Parkinson reports _Le Fuller_ is already on course to buoy 55 for ze convoy. She reminds us of the message from Madame Morton, regarding items she wishes to purchase, and adds Captain Komatsu's request for a command conference at your convenience."

Nodding, Gloria said, "Make a reply to Captain Komatsu that I would like to schedule the conference an hour after we join the convoy. Please notify Ms. Tonks and Mr. Adams five minutes before, and inform Eridani Departure that we'll be joining the convoy to Tosul at buoy 55." She stood, smoothing down her own white uniform's skirt and motioning Murdock back to the command chair.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

In the Owner's cabin, Sprink nervously regarded herself in the mirror. She brushed back her hair, and fiddled with the light grey collar on her white uniform, then adjusted her yellow command turtleneck. "How do I look?"

"You look fine," Charlie re-assured her, wrapping his arms around her, and propping his head on her right shoulder. As he didn't have an official position, he wore a generic off-white coverall and trainers. He brushed back his hair, adding, "I should have gotten a haircut before I left." He gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze, then took a step, handing her datapadd and saying, "We'll be late."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you, Ms. de Galais," Captain Alvarez said. "Please sign off this channel." Lise nodded, disappearing, and Gloria turned to the main screen in her conference room. On there, Captain Komatsu and his First Officer appeared, with Pansy in a window (as Owner), in their navy blue uniforms. Clearing her throat, Gloria said, "We are all in receipt of Ms. Wayne's, or rather, Mrs. Morton's email?"

Sprink grinned, "That must have knocked her back a peg," she commented. "What about this other ship?"

"It joins us in the convoy," Captain Komatsu shrugged. "Four ships will be safer than three. How was your container-handling refit?"

"Not really a difficulty," Captain Alvarez replied. "It was more complex to create a top pressure hatch in the cargo shuttles so containers could be loaded. We will need to look into some way to handle containers at the various sites, though, some form of gantry crane."

"Only forty thousand kilos or so," Captain Komatsu shrugged. "I'll get some of my people working on a design to straddle the shuttles. We have a heavy-duty replicator built into one of the drop pods. Of course, we'll need raw materials for that."

* * *

"The _McCoy_ thinks that the Danube site will be like the others, evacuated," Pansy said. "If that's true, and the doctors give us the all-clear, we can use existing stockpiles, but I want to get that River site up and repaired."

"We need to work on a priority list," Sprink said, and Gloria nodded. "One of the first things we need to do is orbit the comm and GPS, and the weather satellites." She turned, "Mr. Adams, we're going to get some mapping drones, both air and water. High resolution, we need to do some survey work."

He nodded, "Yes, ma'am. What about the Island site? From what I hear, the Elders don't sound too friendly."

"I doubt they have anything that could shoot down a drone," Komatsu said. "They don't seem to believe in preventive maintenance. Still, we'll do them last, at least we'll have the rest of the planetary data." He took a sip of his tea on screen. "As they just have the one continent, I propose we map the ocean up to a few hundred kilometers offshore. The rest of the planet we can do later, once we have the rivers and coastline mapped."

Gloria made a mark on her datapadd. "Agreed. Once the infantry and the medical people have given the all-clear on both sites, we can stay in orbit and shuttle what's needed where. I think we need to look at repairing infrastructure as well as the hurricane damage River suffered. Therefore, I propose the following get done first..."

* * *

_*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**__**Sunday, June 30, 2002:  
Tosul, Bay 3040: 17:23 (GMT)  
**__*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****_

Elena brought the heavy cargo shuttle in to land, turning to match the index marks painted on the wall. Waiting behind the safety line was her brother Arthur, holding the umbilical panel in his left hand. She waved, and he waved back, watching her. The stubby landing gear compressed, lights changed on her panel, and she waved him in.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, you're married now," she teased Mattie, who winced. "The post office must have lost my invite. How was the honeymoon?"

"Oy, you're not the only one," Sprink commented.

"All we needed was a ladder," Arthur deadpanned. "Two tickets to Vegas, and we're done. Nice looking uniforms, you two."

"Ya think?" Sprink replied, twirling a bit. Charlie took her hand for a quick squeeze, "I told her that."

Sprink blushed, mumbling "Cap'n already has us doing drills an' exercises."

* * *

"They're good for you," Elena replied, then very obviously looked at her watch. "As I, along with the other pilots, need to fly cargo up to both ships, O Evil, Cruel Task-mistress In Law, I'd best get to it. You management types can lie back and not lift a finger for your fat paychecks, but us working stiffs need to actually _work_."

"Oh, I'd like to talk that over someday when we're both off duty," Mattie said, and Elena gave her an intentionally sloppy salute and turned to go. Arthur held up his hand, passing something back to his sister. "I think these got in the wrong suitcase," he said dryly. "I don't need that kind of ... protection, thank you," he said, showing a strip of foil-wrapped disks. His almost-wife covered her mouth while Sprink giggled.

* * *

Elena blushed as Mattie waved the others next door to where the _McCoy_ was moored.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"You don't even have a real driver's license yet," Elena whispered quietly to her brother.

* * *

"I don't care. It's a bargain, only 3.6 kilos, it damn near flies itself and it can carry ten tons of cargo."

* * *

'_Only_?', the salesbeing thought. '_How wealthy is this whelp_?'

* * *

"I sincerely doubt you could get that thing registered in Grandview."

* * *

"I wasn't really planning on driving it there."

* * *

"You think this will fit in your personal storage on the _Nevis_?"

* * *

"Now there you have a point," her brother replied. "My apologies, gentle being," Arthur said. "It looks like I'm over my volume limits. My gratitude for your time..."

* * *

"If volume is a concern, gentle being..." the salesbeing said. He didn't want to let this rich young fool escape. "Perhaps you might be interested in a different, slightly smaller, but just as excellent model we have displayed over here..."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Perhaps I should have traded places with Herr Morton," Piotr joked. "I do not know if he's the jealous husband type," he told Mattie.

"I'll protect you," she assured him as they walked through the port's market. "I want to get something to spy on the Elders with..." she said, then stopped dead. "Oh, my..."

"What is it, Frau Morton?"

"Motorcycles..." she breathed.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Charlie walked with Sprink through the port market, looking at mapping drones. He regarded one cutaway model of an aquatic drone, "What's the crush depth on this?"

* * *

"Twenty kilometers of water, gentle being," the salesman said. "As you can see, it requires very little maintainence, simply change out the battery and the backup data cartridge once a week, which can be done with simple hand tools."

* * *

Rubbing his chin, Charlie asked, "Does it do a daily information dump to a satellite? I'm thinking it might get eaten by a large fish, y'see."

* * *

Sprink asked, "Th' charger, does it have a solar power option for th' boat?"

* * *

Charlie gave her hand a squeeze, "I need to check data format compatibility..."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

Accompanied by her bodyguard, Dr. Wu examined the medical devices in the market. "Toxins," she told the sales being. "We are opening up a new area of one of our colony planets, and I am concerned about new poisons." She told herself, '_That wasn't quite a lie. It is a new area of the planet_...'

"We have just the thing, honored Healer," the sales being replied. "I presume it is a multi-species colony?" She nodded, and he continued as they walked, "A minor clarification, Healer?" She nodded again, and he continued, "Differences in terminology. Is a 'poison' biological, chemical, or radiative to your species?"

"Ah, thank you," Dr. Wu replied. "My background is with biological disease vectors, so I tend to use that phraseology. I am concerned about all three possibilities, a child consuming something they shouldn't, to an animal or plant venom, or a vein of ore being radioactive."

"Not a difficulty, Healer," the sales being said, changing course. "This model requires biological samples from each of the dominant colonizing species. Preferably, each settler would give a bio-sample which would be kept on file, along with bio-samples from each of the toxic animal or plants. What some colonies have done is keep live specimens, as some degrade with time. That way they can procure fresh samples on a routine schedule."

"Pardon, Frau Doktor, but what about expansion of the colonist's samples?" the German trooper asked.

"Excellent question," she replied. "Ideally, I'd like to have available to each new settler an emergency kit of the most common anti-venoms. That way they can self-administer something until assistance arrives."

"Not a difficulty, Healer," the sales being said. He stopped, tapping a unit, "This is primarily a computer, calculating the most efficient combination of a base biology and base venom. It produces an ampule (he lifted a sample), that clicks into an injector like so (he demonstrated)."

"I'm glad Herr Gruber assigned his medic to me," Dr. Wu whispered to her bodyguard. Clearing her throat, "That seems simple enough. What about evacuation?"

"A simple stasis float, Healer. Two standard batteries, for redundancy you understand, will keep the subject alive for two standard days until they can be treated at a proper medical facility."

"I do not think we can have a float with every farmer working a field," the German medic said. "What about the farmer summoning help?"

"Should they need assistance, the farmer would simply tap the correct button on his wrist comp." The sales being cleared his throat, "You can purchase different models, including lockable models for your slaves." He tried to steer the conversation away from basics, and tapped an expansion unit. "This is an add-on to the base unit. Once the new colonist is assigned a duty station, you take a blood sample (he held up a small tube), and mount it on the probe as you see. There is a small stasis field inside, and they can be linked together. Over about five thousand individual colonists, I would suggest upgrading to a primary processing unit and a separate replicating unit..."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Stay safe, little brother," Elena said softly before releasing the hug she had Arthur in. "You too," he replied, holding her at arm's length, then crushing her in one more hug.

"Hey, we'll be in the same convoy and all," she sniffled. "Oh, the stories we could tell..."

* * *

"You have no idea," he replied, then released her. "Go, you've got that medical stuff to fly up to the _Nevis_." He looked over at Dr. Wu, giving her a crooked grin, "See you at Windfall, Doc."

Elena grabbed one of the transferring doctor's bags, "C'mon, Doc, before I get weepy."

* * *


	3. 1 15 July, 2002

A/N #0: Not in time for Christmas, but Happy Holidays, everyone!

A/N #1: Warning, two (2) character deaths in this chapter.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
3: 1 - 15 July, 2002

_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 09:40 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **__M/V McCoy__**, Common room:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you," Arthur murmured as the tea mug appeared next to his laptop. He looked up as Piotr took a seat at his table, and took a sip of the tea.

"It is not your blackberry tea," the Russian acknowledged. "It is my own preference, I thought you might enjoy it." He took a swallow from his own tea mug, as Arthur tried another sip, and nodded. '_Not bad for real tea_,' he thought. "When we have the chance, I shall get you an authentic Russian samovar for a wedding present, Herr Morton."

"You know, we're not really..."

Piotr chuckled, "Of course, but we must have something to joke about. That is why I present the appearance of the stolid, humorless Communist apparatchik. After all, if I cannot laugh at myself..." he waved his hand. He took another sip of his tea, "What are you working on?"

"A legal code," Arthur replied. "My project is to integrate the Interstellar Commercial Code, the original Sandur code, and tie that together with the German Basic Law and the US Code." He took another sip of tea, "I'm lucky that there's not many 'fifty dollar words', it's in fairly simple language." He turned his laptop around, "I'm breaking it down into twenty-five or so sections, the first, Section Zero, is a statement of principals, rights, and responsibilities, while Section One is definitions and standards." He gestured, "For instance, the ICC definitions for just about everything go off a galactic standard second, which is defined as a frequency of the hydrogen atom, while we go off the cesium atom. Therefore, a meter is determined as the distance light moves in a particular fraction of a second, a kilogram as a particular size sphere of tungsten, and so forth."

Piotr nodded, Arthur continuing, "They actually integrate fairly well, but my biggest changes are the definitions of 'slave', and the trafficking of them, the criminal codes, and definitions of 'hamlet', 'village', 'town', 'city', and 'state'. Those all depend on population size and facilities."

"So how do you define these?" Piotr sat back and sipped his own mug of tea.

"I'm trying to keep these flexible for future growth, especially since it's likely we'll be using these on other planets and colonies," Arthur replied, taking a sip of his own tea. "That's why I didn't define a planetary standard, because each is going to be different, and the ICC already bases theirs on the Oans, who are powerful enough to change their planet's spin and orbit." Piotr nodded. "That makes sense, go on," he coached.

"A 'hamlet' is a small collection of farms and homes of up to a hundred people on the perimeter of a larger village, which would be up to three hundred people or so. The villages and hamlets may or may not have a municipal corporation..." He stopped at the raised eyebrow. "They wouldn't have set up their own government," Arthur explained.

"Ah, please go on," and Arthur nodded. "Now, the towns would be five to seven hundred people, and a 'city' would be a thousand people or more." Arthur swirled his mug of tea, pulling out a printed map of Windfall's main continent. Pointing at it with his pencil, he tapped the River site. "The estimates put the main island as having a population between seven or eight hundred and fifteen hundred. That would at least be a town, maybe a city. They would need to provide police, fire, and utility services for this area, and based on what we found, it looks like they did." He moved his pencil, "This blacksmith's farm, on the other hand, is twenty or thirty klicks from the town of River." He circled it, along with two other farms in the neighborhood. "This might be the hamlet of 'Iron', to pick a name. They don't have a government, but because they pay taxes to the state government, they would have police and fire services, if not city power and water. They would also vote in state elections, but not in the City of River's municipal elections, and they'd be represented in the state and planetary assemblies."

Arthur took a last gulp of tea, "Two exceptions would be the state of 'Orbit', defined as from 200 kilometers to synchronous orbit, and 'Belt', which would be everyone living in the Asteroid Belts."

"You must have a reason for all this," Piotr commented.

Nodding, Arthur said, "Someone has to pay for maintaining public works like roads, and services like police and fire, otherwise it would never get done. However, we don't want a huge tax burden and a swollen bureaucracy, either. Those just impede growth, which is why they're limited to five percent of GDP and five percent of the population. If your total population is a thousand, fifty people should be able to provide fire, police, public health and the other services." He waved his pencil, "If you as the local mayor feel you need more, you can put a referendum on the ballot explaining why, and how you're going to pay for it. If your citizens vote it in, that's fine. Otherwise, you make do with what you have, you live within your budget, like everyone else does. One of the big problems of the Western governments is deficit spending."

"What about emergencies, those do come up." Piotr tapped the map, "They suffered a hurricane, that damage must be made good."

"Insurance and savings, for the city and the individual citizens. There's also no reason why the city can't float a bond, or have a local, term limited tax to build up their reserves. Another percent, say, for five years to build up the 'rainy day fund', the cash reserves. A hurricane hits, the government is there with food, clean water, and ice from their reserves."

"You've done quite a bit of research on this. Perhaps you should run for mayor," Piotr joked.

Shaking his head, "Na, I'm tight with Mattie. Royal Consort," he grinned, thinking of the Kryptonian ring, and Sprink's veiled warning. He hadn't decided yet if he should see what, if anything, was recorded on it. He looked into his empty teacup, "We also have the problem of what to do with our criminals, a struggling young colony can't afford to lock them up and let them rot. We need to put them to work."

"You mentioned this earlier, I think."

"Let's take the example of a thief," Arthur said. "He's stolen something from me, it doesn't matter what. A goat, a stud goat, and it's worth..." (he waved his hand), "... fifty grams. He's arrested, charged, and convicted, with the state paying court costs like attorney's fees."

"Now, the way it's set up, the more growth, the more revenue and the more people the government can hire." Piotr nodded, and Arthur continued, "The goat thief is sentenced to three months community service, more if the goat was killed or injured. He's put to work behind a team of shonnen, grading roads or plowing snow, while someone that was drunk in public might spend a week sweeping streets." He gestured, "Part of the punishment is public humiliation, so they're dressed in really bright, florescent colors like green and orange, with pink underwear. The kind of colors that hurt your eyes."

Chuckling, Piotr commented, "The kinds of colours my daughter likes. What about installing things like sewers and the power grid?"

"You'd have specialists working for either the state or the overall planetary governor, who would come in, do the plans and the specialist work, while the convicts dug the trenches."

"A planetary governor?"

"Next step up on the scale, the 'federal' level," he said. "Although properly, since this is a binary system, it should be the System Governor. They're responsible for dealing with Terra, buying equipment, trading, recruiting personnel, and system defense. He or she would be the ones to put in the system defense ships, crew them, supply them, and so forth."

"Now what about taxes?"

"The local levels are limited to their five percent of GDP," Arthur said. "Now, this is preliminary, other things could throw all this in the trash. However, I think they could sell bonds, and have local option taxes, for instance if they wanted to build a dam, or pave a road. That's something they would need to sell to their voters. The key there is transparency, all the records are open, anyone can walk in and attend a city council meeting. That's where we're going to hit the Elders, they're so used to operating in secret."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Jamie Burnet looked over his notes. Not only did he need to observe Lantern Bank's specifications on the design of coins Gringotts would issue, he also had to rework and design Windfall's new economic structure. He contemplated the coin's design one last time, he would need to defend them before Gringotts' Board of Directors, who were certain to make changes. '_Possibly conflicting changes_', the goblin banker thought.

Setting the coin issue aside, he rubbed his chin as he thought about how to transition the Island site's economy from iron to the galactic standard of tungsten. He also needed to factor in the required tax rates and transparency in government. Taking up his pencil, he pulled his legal pad to him...

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Frax sweated as she answered another question from the three ship's Captains, and the other owners like Ms. Wayne. As she had the most direct experience with the Council of Elders (aside from Mistress Benni, who wasn't here), she was on the hot seat.

"I'm sorry, master," she replied to the German. "I've never heard of the Council Guard having any sort of heavy weapons. I don't think they even have riot shields, or anything like tear gas. Just their night sticks, which they're very good with."

"Martial arts?" Ms. Wayne asked, and Frax remembered from when she was Ashley that Ms. Wayne was a practitioner of them. "No, mistress, just..." she gestured, "... kicking someone when they were down on the ground. They do wear a low boot instead of sandals, but otherwise just a black halter top, shorts and a tool belt. It is a tropical island."

The Japanese Captain grunted, asking, "What about an underground economy? Under the table, deals out the back door?"

"Items that 'fell off the truck', master?" Frax grinned. "Yes, that exists. People grumble about the Elder's tax rates, but not very loudly, because it will get the 'blacks', the Council Guard's attention. The blacks can be bribed to 'forget' some things, or find no evidence. It depends on who ordered them out, but they're used to getting things like free food from restaurants, and 'discounts' on stuff they buy, master. Deep discounts, like below cost..."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Pansy regarded the platinum-blonde slave on the screen. Her hair reminded her of Lucius Malfoy's, long and straight. She shook herself, returning her attention to the slave as Captain Komatsu asked a question.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Sprink watched as Pansy asked, "What about news? We know there's a Council newsletter, but it's a bloody fish wrapper."

"Yes, mistress," the platinum-blonde slave replied. "There's a sign language code that the slaves use if their owners don't want to pay for a mask license. I've worn the leather mask, it's reasonably comfortable, for black leather, and it's riveted on. Aside from that, it's gossip, so there's going to be some errors in the telling, and it's mostly social news. So-and-so was sold to another master, or a shop has a new contract. Port Lincoln is generating a lot of news, recently. We're the main source of off-planet slaves like me, and we generally have good news, good gossip. In addition, we're doing a lot of investing, so there's a lot of back-channel interest. A master might not be able, politically, to ask about it, but his slaves can ask me, and I can get her the information."

"Main source of off-planet slaves?" Mattie asked dangerously. "If we have sold one slave on the local market...".

"I am sorry, mistress, I mis-spoke. We are the major importer of off-planet slaves, the hotel girls. We haven't sold any slaves, mistress." She licked her lips nervously, "Mistress, each of the Elders imported off-planet slaves through smugglers, mistress, along with some off-planet tech. However, we have around eight hundred, including the slaves from the Scythe. That gives Mistress Benni some political leverage, although not as much as Master Eddie or Master Gix have, or had. There's still some unofficial sex discrimination on the part of the Elders, the 'only a female' attitude." She took a sip of her water glass, "I feel sorry for the Elder's slaves, mistress. Not only do they need to wear the leather gags, but the ones I've seen have hobbles welded on their ankles. It forces them to walk on tip-toe."

"That's..." Pansy started, and the blonde shrugged, "They're slaves, we're slaves, mistress. We're bought and sold."

"I thought the slaves were convicts," Sprink asked.

"A good fraction of them are, mistress," the blonde replied. "If you're sentenced to a forty or fifty year collar, it's essentially a lifetime collar. The local ones might not be implanted in the neck, but they're crimped and riveted on, and you're tattooed with a registration number." She stood, turning to show her left hip, where a white circle was placed. On it in black ink, it had 'Slave Control Board' circling the top, while below it had 'Windfall' and in the middle, her number. She sat again, and ran a hand down a breast chain, "These are new, and they're painful when you walk, but the tattoo itself doesn't hurt."

She took a sip of water, "In any case, mistress, there was a law, recently canceled, called 'Mother's Sin', that if your mother was slave when you were born, you were a born slave. I know Elder Baasht has a breeding farm for slaves, I don't know how that's going to affect him. I would assume that he'll just ignore it, or get a license from Elder Taaman of the Justice Ministry. They do a lot of back-scratching that way, and they tend to ignore or work around 'inconveniences' (she finger-quoted) like that." She took a sip of water, "In any case, mistress, while slaves can appeal their lessors, in theory, in practice it doesn't happen often. It would either be denied or ignored, tied up in paperwork in the Ministry, and your lease can be sold to another master, so technically, a slave would belong to the Ministry, but she would actually submit to a master. He can't kill her, but she can be 'disciplined' fairly severely."

"How many off-planet slaves are there?" Ms. Wayne asked. "I understand the total slave population is around fifty thousand."

The blonde took a sip of water while she thought. "Each Elder has household slaves, off world slaves, and there are quite a few working in the different Ministries. We would have about eight hundred, another two dozen or so for each Elder, because it's a status thing for them, and Elder Baasht's farm slaves have off-planet collars and belts, even though they're locals..." She took a sip, "I don't know how many are in the different ministries, or private slaves for the rich. I'm going to guess from fifteen hundred to three thousand, not counting the farm girls. Having off-planet slaves is a status symbol," she added.

"Six percent?" Pansy asked. "That seems kind of high to me."

"You're forgetting the 'status' angle," Ms. Wayne said. "I'm sure they're visible at various parties and things, and they can be put to work in the different businesses. However, if they're a wealth - indicator, it's like my having a Maybach instead of a 'mere' Rolls, you can't upstage an Elder by showing more slaves if you want to do business with him."

Pansy nodded, "So you keep some in the kitchen or on the farm, and if the Elder likes the look of one, she's only a slave, you give her to him to grease the wheels. I think I prefer the honesty of a simple bribe."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 10:14 (GMT)  
Terra, The Burrow, garden:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"...and do you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, take this witch, Minerva McGonagall, as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for all eternity, till death do you part?"

"I do," he replied firmly.

"The rings, please." Severus stepped up, as Albus' best man by long custom his wife or intended, Bella, attended Minerva. He assisted Albus in sliding the ring onto Minerva's finger, then stepped back as Bella assisted Minerva. She stepped back, and the triple wedding continued.

Clearing his throat, Rufus continued, "By the power vested in me by our Liege Lady the Queen and the Ministry of Magic, I, Rufus Scrimgeour, as Minister of Magic, it is my happy duty to pronounce you married. Kiss her, before someone beats you to it!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Monday, July 1, 2002: 11:30 (GMT)  
Terra, University of London, Institute of Education:**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I wonder how the wedding's going?" one of the students asked on break. "I mean, it's kind of boring without the wizards..."

Professor Knewell regarded her, she looked kind of dreamy-eyed. "Personally, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet," he replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 12:03 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **__M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller__**, Medlab:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Gisele rapped on the doorframe, and Doc Livingston looked up from her screen. "I'm here for my physical, Frau Doktor," the blonde helmswoman said.

"So you are," she replied, locking her screen and grabbing her datapadd. "You're in my evil clutches now, fair maiden!"

Gisele reacted, dramatically throwing her arm over her forehead as she walked with the Canadian doctor, "Oh, woe is me! The Evil Doctor will tie me to the train tracks! Oh, where is Dudley Do-Right?"

"The Mounties have no jurisdiction here," Dr. Livingston replied with an evil cackle, and gestured to a waiting slave in a crimson slave smock. "Ey-gore here will take care of you."

"Ey-gore, mistress?" the Healer Trainee asked. "Are you naming me?"

"It's a joke," the doctor said with a grin. "The evil mad scientist always has a hunchbacked assistant named Igor, spelled I-G-O-R, but pronounced as 'Ey-gore'. They're the ones that take care of the innocent blonde damsel in distress, dig up the bodies to experiment on... We'll have to have a movie night."

"And as the blonde victim, I'm in your evil clutches," Gisele said, taking a step and arranging herself on the examination bed.

'Igor' rotated it to horizontal, and the medical display came on above Gisele as it locked in place. Dr. Livingston examined it as she explained, "A hunchback is an abnormal curvature of the upper thoracic vertebrae. It forces the victim to walk hunched over, like this," and she demonstrated, taking a few steps. She straightened and pulled the examination curtain closed, and punched up Gisele's medical records.

"Now then," the Doctor said, becoming all business, "As I said, patient records and information are considered private. We would need Gisele's written approval before releasing any of hers, but we can discuss it here, with her." 'Igor' nodded, and Dr. Livingston said, "For instance, she had some bio-sculpt work done in a med-tank. Now, that's somewhat ethically questionable, if she was doing it to evade criminal law, as an example." She raised an eyebrow at her patient.

Gisele added, "From the patient's perspective, I will tolerate, and ask, extremely personal questions like this, which I would not accept from others, including blood relatives, and accept quite a lot of minor discomfort, poking, and prodding, which you medical types seem rather fond of." She shifted on the bed, "I took care of some plastic surgery, doing a bit of re-arranging as part of my sign-on bonus," she explained. "I was not at all happy with myself, I wanted to look like the blonde, bosomy girls in the beer commercials. Nothing illegal," she added.

Dr. Livingston passed her datapadd to 'Igor', who perused it as the doctor asked, "Any actual complaints?" Gisele shook her head, then said, "These breasts look good, but they're heavy and giving me a minor backache." The doctor nodded, and said, "We'll see about re-programming your bra size, and schedule you for a dental and eye exam later. Now, let's have Ey-gore here give you a complete physical."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 18:37 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **__M/V (A) Ben Nevis__**, Common room:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Care to join us, Doctor?" Gloria Alvarez asked, as Sprink and Charlie sat down. Dr. Wu smiled at this, dropping her datapadd in the seat and transferring the dishes from her tray. She picked up the datapadd, admitting, "I was getting a bit of a headache from reading the specs on that new machine."

"Two aspirin, call me in the morning," Charlie joked.

"Practicing without a license, Mr. Adams?" the Chinese Doctor replied, turning over her salad with her fork, then taking a bite. She motioned with her fork at Charlie's ale, "Aren't you a bit young?"

"Oy, we're British, we grow up in pubs," Sprink replied. "How are the physicals going?"

"Very well, but I need to schedule you three," the Doctor replied.

Captain Alvarez nodded, then said, "We leave the convoy tonight, and I'm placing the ship on yellow alert while we go through the nebula. That means everyone wears their skinsuits and has their helmets to hand."

"I was just getting used to this uniform," Dr. Wu said.

"What about the new gizmo, Doctor?" Charlie asked.

"That reminds me, I need to get a blood sample from everyone who's going dirtside. I've been reading up on this new device, with it I can produce a compatible artificial blood that just needs to be mixed with saline, but I'll need species specific and type-specific samples."

"I don't think that will be a problem, Doctor," the Captain replied.

"I'm looking forward to seeing the new planet," Charlie said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 20:54 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Entrance Hall:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, that was a _lovely_ wedding!" Aurora said as she stepped out of the floo. Edward started to dust her off as Severus commented, "Hopefully, their wives will restrain the pranksters. However, I do not hold out much hope."

"You're still miffed about the pink dungeon," Bella said, accepting the brush from Harry.

"With good reason," he replied, and Edward cleared his throat, "I believe we are all together. I had a small thing I did not wish to bring up at the wedding. He turned, extracted a small box from his pocket, and dropped to one knee. "Aurora, I am something of a traditionalist. Will you and Emma do me the honor of marrying me?"

Gobsmacked, Aurora Sinestra blinked a few times, then screamed "Yes! Oh, god, yes!" and pulled him up into a kiss.

Ginny turned and swatted Harry's arm, "See? That's how you do it!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 23:38 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **__M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller__**, Flight deck:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Captain Komatsu strode onto the flight deck, vacuum helmet under his arm. He assumed the Command chair, "Ms. Parkinson, sound yellow alert, we are leaving the convoy. Are we in communication with our other ships?"

A light started to flash as Pansy replied, "Yes, sir. I have Convoy command, did you need to speak to them?"

"No, best wishes, obtain a refund of any monies, check if the hazard charts have been updated, that kind of thing."

"Yes, sir." She whispered into her hush mike, "Sir, we are refunded three and a half kilos, our charts are current, and we are officially notified of pirate activity. Best wishes are returned, and they advise our shields up and weapons hot."

"Helm, break us out of the convoy, shields to full, weapons to half. Tactical command is transferred to Captain Alvarez and the _Nevis_. Assume the position in formation we've been assigned."

"Aye, sir," Gisele replied, and the Captain said, "Computer, update log entry. We have dropped out of the convoy, tactical command has been transferred..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 1, 2002: 23:40 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **__M/V __Esentasse__**, Flight deck:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Transferring tactical command, mistress," Frax said. "Assuming assigned place in formation." She turned to look at the felinoid in the command chair, "Did you wish to speak to any of the other ships, mistress?"

H'ress shook her head. "No, but I do not understand what a 'finger four' isss..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Tuesday, July 2, 2002: 03:16 (relative)  
Orion Nebula:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The ship forged ahead, serving as the 'beater', active sensors live and scanning while the other three ships followed silently, spread out over several light-minutes. The hunter watched silently, the first ship would have been nice to take, but the other three, clearly following in an unusual new tactical formation, forbid it. He settled back to wait for another.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Tuesday, July 2, 2002: 10:23 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Quito, Ecuador, International Floo Arrivals:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The fire turned green, and Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the fire, turning to offer a hand to Minerva, who followed him. They joined the Weasley twins and their new brides in line for Customs, the official greeting them with a wide smile, "Welcome to Ecuador!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Blimey, this suit is tight," Angelina said on the shuttle up. She twisted a bit, and her new husband gave her hand a squeeze, "You look wonderful in it."

"I was wondering," Albus said from the next row back. "Who is watching your shop?"

"Ron's handling sales, and Hermione is coming over," Alicia said. "They're doing a 'Hurry up while the boss is away sale', since summer's a slow time, and some of the fifth-years and up are coming in part time."

"Professor Lupin's poking his head in, and Professor Snape said he'd do the same," Angelina added.

"Some of the fifth years are working in your back room?" Albus worried.

"Not to worry, Hermione is a worse taskmistress than Professor Snape," Fred (or George) said.

"So he doesn't have his new classroom painted again," Minerva said. "You know, he's never forgiven you two for that, and he would be a useful ally to have. You might want to tender an apology." Alicia turned and gave her a wink, and George (or Fred) groaned.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Tuesday, July 2, 2002: 16:29 (GMT)  
In Convoy, **__M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller__**, Flight deck:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Entering the Secundus system," Gisele said from the helm, and there was a small cheer. "We've still got two asteroid belts to get through," she added.

"Drop to subspace drive," Captain Komatsu said, and turned to Pansy, "Give me all-call, please." She flipped a few switches, then pointed at him. "Your attention please. We have arrived in our destination system, it will be another several hours while we work through asteroid belts and can assume orbit. Thank you." He made a throat-cutting gesture, and Pansy nodded. He cleared his throat, "Computer, ship's log, supplemental. We have entered the Benecee Secundus system, and are working our way in. Komatsu, commanding. End."

The Captain settled back in his chair with a sigh of pleasure, then took a gulp of tea from his mug, and pulled his datapadd to him to renew his assault on the paperwork.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Gisele yawned, logging off her console and letting her relief handle the helm. At the hatch, Pansy waited for her, while Second Officer Michelle Park relieved the Captain. The three of them left, Pansy saying, "I'm for a nice cuppa to unwind."

"Oh, that was fun flying," Gisele said. "Up, down, left, right. Thank god for radar." She twisted, her joints crackling, "My butt hurts from that chair," and she waved off the Captain, who was about to say something. "No, just stress and sitting too long. I'm going to get out of this uniform and into some workout clothes, and steal a treadmill."

"I should too," Pansy said, and the Captain asked, "Is the uniform uncomfortable?"

"No, sir, it's fine, it's just a change," Gisele replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, Igor, you need a spotter," Gisele said, as the medical slave hesitantly looked at the weights.

"Igor?" the Captain asked, wearing red nylon shorts and a white tank top with '2001 Tokyo Marathon' on it. He sipped from his water bottle.

"A joke, skipper," she replied. "Doc Livingston was doing this whole mad scientist bit when I went in for my physical, and she called her 'Igor', the hunchback, y'know?" She addressed the girl, "A spotter is for your safety, they'll help lift the weights off if you have a problem. Now, first, you need a towel to put on the bench, it will absorb your sweat." She put hers down on the bench, "I'll get another. Let's start you off with ten kilos. You get two ten kilo weights. Don't forget to re-clamp the supply bar, we don't want them floating about if we lose gravity, and clamp them on the ends of the bar..."

Pansy listened from where she worked her legs on a weight machine, while others used treadmills, and several of the men sparred. She was glad to see one of the slave girls venture in here (even if she was naked), she hoped the rest would soon. With a sigh, she settled the plates to finish her reps, and (after wiping down the station), claimed an inclined board for crunches.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Tuesday, July 2, 2002: 23:35 (GMT)  
Terran space, Greywolf shuttle flight:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The stewardess floated by, "We're ten minutes from docking at L1, please stow... you have knitting needles, sir?"

"Why, yes," the older fellow, whose helmet was filled with white hair. "I thought I'd get a start on Christmas presents. This is for Mortimer," and he held out a sweater. It was grey and black, with a large white 'M' on the sides.

"I think you've got the sleeves wrong, sir," she said. "Also, shouldn't there be two, instead of four?"

"Oh, Mortimer is my brother Aberforth's goat," the passenger replied. "He gets chilly at night in Scotland, you know. Why, I taught Molly to knit, she and Ginevra, not to mention..."

"Albus... Docking?" the comparatively younger woman (mid seventies, apparently) next to him said. She looked up at the floating stewardess in her white and grey suit, "I'll take care of him, dear. Thank you." As she floated away, he was saying something about lemon drops.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 04:18 (GMT)  
Windfall orbit, **__M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller__**, Shuttle **__LK 0520__**:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

_"Bucky Flight Ops, this is Lima King 0520 requesting permission to depart."  
"Lima King, Flight. Don't let the Skipper hear you call her that. Departure granted."  
"Flight, Lima King, we'll see you dirtside. Has the Nevis' shuttle left yet?"  
"Lima King, Flight. They're on Guard at 121.5. You gonna let them beat you down?"  
"Flight, Lima King. Hell, no, they're buying the beer." _

Elena clicked off the radio, "We gonna let them kick our butt?" she asked her co-pilot, Helen.

"Get this crate moving, Yank," she replied. "We're hot to trot, and we got arse to kick."

"That's my girl..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

Elena punched up Guard on COMM2:  
_"Yo, this is Lima King from the Bucky, who we got over there from the Nevis?"  
"Lima King, this is Nevis Flight Ops, this is an emergency channel..."  
"Stuff it, Nevis Flight, this is Bucky Flight, take the rod out of your ass. The first round that our shuttle wets their wings before yours does."  
"Bucky Flight, this is Mike India from the Nevis. We want a piece of that action."  
"Mike India, Lima King, you're on." _Elena grinned at Helen.  
_"Lima King, Mike India. Where are you gonna pay up, Eunomia?"  
"Mike India, Lima King, hell no. The folks at Port Lincoln are supposed to make a damn fine ale. We'll drain 'em dry, and you're paying, suckers."  
"Fat chance, Lima King. We got a straight drop, you turkeys have to fly up a river to your LZ."  
"Mike India, Lima King. Water is water."_ Elena made a low pass on a river, _"We just dipped our gear, suckers. Hope you got enough cash, they don't take credit cards."  
"Lima King, Mike India. You're a bitch."  
"Mike India, Lima King. Takes one. I hope they have wheat beer." _

"Well, that was fun," Helen said. "We can throttle back, we won, Yank."

"Ah, you Chinks got no balls," Elena replied, but eased back as Helen giggled, "Strictly speaking, neither one of us do. Low and slow," and she raised the gear again, then turned to energize the weapons turret.

"They do let us play with the most fun toys," Elena said, and reached up for the intercom. "Five minute warning," she called back to the troops. Clicking off the intercom, "I wouldn't want to go out there wearing protective gear."

"Roast pilot," Helen agreed. "Standard search radars, no firing locks. Retracting airfoils. Two hundred klicks. One-fifty." She toggled the intercom, "Hundred klicks, ninety seconds." Switching it off again, she said, "Ready light on the hatch. Thirty meters altitude. Twenty klicks. Come right to 070."

"Coming right, feet dry," Elena said.

"Still no firing locks," Helen said. "Gear down. Five meters... Three... contact! Tripping the hatch." She pulled the targeting scope down, as Elena reported in. Changing to COMM3, she listened to the ground frequency, holding the shuttle on the ground as the troops checked the first missile site.

"Still have the missiles, there's a rodent skull around one of the wires," she said. "Disconnecting the firing circuit now. They're moving to site two."

"Two to go..." Helen said from under the targeting scope. They waited tensely as the troops moved several klicks through hilly terrain. Finally, they reported back, "Big bird's nest jamming the gearing. Thing's like two meters across," Elena said. "They're disconnecting the firing circuit, they'll go to site three, the crash site, and meet us at the pads."

"Thank god," Helen said, closing the passenger hatch while Elena called the ship.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

_"Bucky Flight Ops, Lima King. I've got a status report."  
"Buckminster Fuller Flight Ops to Lima King, this is the Captain. I'll forgive you if you've got good news. We're patching you to the other ships."  
"Lima King, I think so. Site one's firing circuit was apparently shorted out by an animal chewing the wires, Site two has jammed gears from a huge bird's nest. Troops disabled both of them, we're now at Site Three waiting for them. Just doing a quick look-over, it looks like the locals' shuttle took a nose dive into the pad. Might actually be repairable. Might, I say. Ground troops report no atmospheric diseases, about 10 degrees. A bit cool, I should have brought a sweater. There's some morning frost on the landing pad, in the shadow of the shuttle. Hasn't burnt off yet." _

* * *

There was silence for a minute, then the voice returned._  
_

* * *

_"Lima King again. Helen reports the infrared targeting has some beasties, about fifty kilos or so each. They're herd animals, they're clustered together. There's another, about two, two and a quarter that's upwind, we can see the wind blowing the grass. Looks like someone's going to get lunch. That's the only threat we see, we've reported it to the ground troops. They've reported a large rabbit that's chewing on something about the size of a Doberman, with some quills sticking out of it. Both sides backed off. They've got eyes on the shuttle. Still no indications of disease, just a nice cool morning." _

* * *

"So far, so good," Mattie whispered to herself in the _McCoy's_ gym. It was motionless, people stood or sat on the machines as they listened to the loudspeakers. Arthur idly did bicep curls as he listened to his sister.

* * *

_"Lima King again. Troops are at the wreck, they report a large rock on the forward end. They can see a skeleton in the left seat. Scorch marks around the base, with the ends of, quote, dressed wood, end quote. I don't know what they wanted to do, smoke 'em out or cook 'em. Troops are spreading out again, stand by. _

* * *

"A large rock?" one of the troops asked softly. The speakers came on again.

* * *

_"Orbit, Lima King. Troops have found the remains of the rock-thrower. It was partially dismantled, there are weeds and small trees growing in it. They're calling it a 'trebuchet' if I'm pronouncing it right, and say it was a lucky shot. Still no evidence of any disease, temperature's gone up half a degree. Request permission to disembark."  
"Lima King, you are not, repeat not, granted permission to disembark. Wait for the medical clearance."  
"Orbit, Lima King. Copy negative permission. Do you want that rabbit thing?"  
"Lima King, negative on the rabbit. We'll catch one later. Troops can board when they want to."  
"Orbit, Lima King. They want to get another water sample, they found a water tap. They're waving, popping the hatch. Boarding now."_

* * *

There was silence, then:

* * *

_"Orbit, Lima King. All aboard and accounted for. Samples are stowed, hatch is secure. Securing weapons, ready to lift. Going out the same way, why take chances. How's Mike India doing?"  
"Lima King, Mike India. No wabbits here. We're dull and boring, but we get the job done."  
"Mike India, Lima King. When you finally get around to it. We're a' comin' down the river in your direction, getting a nice travel video. Orbit, permission for a low pass?"  
"Lima King, Orbit. Low pass on Mike India, or the Island site?"  
"How about both, Orbit?"  
"Lima King, Mike India. Don't get your panties in a bunch. Take your time on your river cruise, we'll have our troopies and samples loaded in another couple minutes, then we can both break a few of the Elder's windows."  
"Mike India, Lima King. Sounds like a plan. Mach plus?"  
"Lima King, you're ladies after our own heart."  
"Mike India, flattery will get you nowhere. You're still buying the first round. We're about three hundred klicks out."  
"Lima King, securing the hatch now." _

* * *

There was a longer silence, then:

* * *

_"Lima King, Mike India. Shall we pay a call on some greedy old men?" _

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

_  
_Something told T'ara to look up. She saw two black dots approaching from the northwest, quickly gaining size. There was a brief rumble, and then two crashing booms as a shuttle did a fast flyby, pulling up as a second followed with another two sonic booms. Both pulled to orbit as the locals cried and screamed in terror. She enjoyed the scene for a minute, then started to run toward the _Ngthsestr_.

* * *

"_Ngthsestr to unknown ship in orbit."  
_

* * *

Pansy raised an eyebrow:  
_  
_

* * *

_"This is the M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller, go ahead, __Ng..._ (she cleared her throat) _Nagster."  
_T'ara chuckled, _"Almost right, Fuller. Just thought you'd like to know this spacer appreciated the show. Most amusing."  
"I'm sure we have no idea what you're talking about, Negastr."_ There was the scratching noise again, _"Sorry about that. I'm having trouble with that name."  
"Neg-set-R, Fuller. I'm sure that's true. We don't have any shuttles parked at Port Lincoln, and the local's one-and-only is falling apart. Sheer coincidence. Don't sweat it, I know nothing, and neither does my master."  
"Ah, I thought the reports were true. When our people get into town, I'll ask them to look you up, quietly. Maybe buy you a beer or two."  
"Been a long time since someone bought me a beer, Fuller. Before I got this pretty, pretty collar on my neck. That would be much appreciated, not having to kneel for a change. My master's coming, I'd best inform him. Ngthsestr out." _

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 06:15 (GMT)  
Windfall orbit, **__M/V McCoy__**, conference room:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"... and did no one ever discuss with you subtlety? Stealth? We're trying to do the 'hearts and minds' thing here, and scaring them enough to load their shorts doesn't help."

Mattie glowered at her screen and the two flight crews, then sighed. "I am aware that your respective Flight Ops, while they didn't specifically authorize the pass, were aware of it and didn't forbid it either. I want it passed on to everyone concerned that if something like this happens again, people will be looking for jobs, and the Elders ain't hiring. Are we on the same page, here?" She heard different versions of 'Yes, ma'am' and nodded.

"Now that I've chewed your butts. I'd like to compliment you all on an excellent job dirtside as well, now all we need to do is wait for the docs to decide if we can safely breathe the air."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 09:12 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Buckingham Palace:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Her Majesty worked down her incoming emails, coming to the one from Arthur Morton. Clicking on it, it automatically decrypted, and she studied it.

"Well, that is good news!" she told herself, then forwarded it to Lady Sarah, and clicked on the next.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 09:15 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Isle of Dogs, Solar Guard operations:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Lady Sarah raised her eyebrow when the email popped up from HM E. Windsor. However, she'd seen them before, and keyed in her decryption key.

"Well, that is good news!" she told her screen, and sat back to contemplate this.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 09:30 (GMT)  
Windfall orbit, **__M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller__**, common room:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Once again dressed in her comfortable navy jumpsuit and boots (although when her blokes had seen her in the ship's uniform dress, they had whistled at her), Pansy sipped her tea and regarded her crew chiefs. "Right, you bloody mugs, here's where we stand. Right now, we're in orbit over the planet Windfall. We have preliminary, not final, preliminary clearance to start working, the medical types are still dithering." She turned slightly toward Dr. Livingston, "No offense, Doc."

"None taken, but you've had your physical," she replied with a sweet smile. "They just want to be safe."

"Can't argue with that," Pansy agreed. "Now, in a few minutes we'll shuttle down to the Island site - you lot have all seen the planetary maps?" There were assorted grunts and nods, and she continued, "We have a slave re-education camp there, they've been doing some basic, manual construction. Hand tools, not power equipment, and since the island's metal-poor, not much in the way of machining, welding, any sort of metalworking. They use iron as currency."

"Not gold, or the tungsten coins?" one of her blokes asked.

"No. Think of the tech level as ox and cart, with different types of electricity," Pansy replied. "One farm might have 240 and 60 hertz, another 117 and 80, and a third down the road might be 340 and 50." The electricians shook their heads, one asking, "What about their power grid?"

"They don't have one," Captain Komatsu said from behind Pansy, tea-mug in hand. "That's one of the nice little political jobs Ms. Wayne has with the Council. Please forgive me, Ms. Parkinson."

"We are indeed fortunate that _we_ don't have to deal with the Council of Elders and their toadies," Dr. Livingston said. "With the exception of their Customs blokes, who have their hand out. Don't worry about them. However, the oxen Ms. Parkinson mentioned are larger than a rhino, weighing between five and six thousand pounds. And they have six legs."

There were several whistles, Pansy adding, "They are big, dumb and slow, and won't even notice you. Don't let them step on you. However, that's not our problem. We're going to take a bunch of these slaves..."

"Why do we, does Wayne, have slaves here?" one asked. "She's been on about it..."

"Yes, she has," Pansy said. "Those slaves were originally hotel slaves. You let a room, there's a slave girl in it to attend your needs." She regarded her blokes, "ALL your needs. When they get to a certain age, in this case seventeen or so, a paper-pusher somewhere decides they're not pretty enough any longer, and sells them off for animal feed."

"Animal feed? You mean..."

"Binding them and throwing them to the lions," Komatsu said. "I have a daughter that age. There is some argument if it is more moral to keep the money and not enrich these... scum, or to enrich them and save a life." He took a sip of tea to calm himself, "Personally, I vote to save their lives and hang the scum later. If it involves lying to the scum, or pretending to be something I am not, my sins will be understood and forgiven. I feel the same way about the slaves we purchased with the ship. I will free them when we return to Terra and Eunomia."

"I had wondered about that, Ms. Parkinson," Jeffers, one of her senior people asked.

"Legal difficulties," the Captain replied. "As I understand it, when you board the Channel tunnel train in London, you're on French soil, and reversed in Paris?" Several people nodded, and he said, "For now, on board this ship they are slave until we return to Eunomia and resolve the legal situation, at which time they will be offered a Guild contract."

"No union?"

"Spacer's Guild is a union of sorts," Pansy said, and the union members settled back. The Captain raised a finger, "Please do not mention our plans to the slaves, I wish to do so myself. Once again, please forgive me for interrupting you, Ms. Parkinson," and he departed.

"Getting back to the girls," Pansy said. "They've been doing bricklaying and masonry, plumbing, some electrical. We're trying to get these girls to think outside their collars, to get away from being slaves and taking orders to thinking creatively. The women in charge are from Earth, they've done their best, but they've never worked in construction. Each of you is going to take some of the girls, and you're going to train them how to do the job right, and that includes safety gear." There were nods of approval, "We have two large jobs and several small jobs, so we'll need many hands. Our people will be training and supervising the girls, and I'll see the union shop stewards after this meeting."

Picking up the handout, she indicated the first page. "This is what we're calling the River site, the first major job. We've had several hundred people here drinking the water and breathing the air for weeks, so we're fairly certain it's safe." She turned the page, "Surface layout. Original in black, temporary in red, permanent in blue. We're using a small farm just north of the main site for our camp. It has running water, so we're putting in a temporary water plant, tents, and a replicated food kitchen like we've been eating for the last week or so. We should be comfortable enough, and yes, the tents are air-conditioned."

People chuckled, and she continued, "Now, the base of this footbridge has a generator in each support, it's running on about seventy percent capacity. We'll need to put our divers down to clear debris, and replace defective equipment. Same thing here with this dam, get the generators and electrical gear up to scratch. While that's being done, water and sewer, the roads look in decent shape for gravel, but these two riverboats need to be re-floated, and the dry dock gates need repair. Building and roofs need checked. Underground layouts that we know of, the mainland side diagrams are followed by the small island ..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 10:57 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Entrance Hall:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That was weird," Sandra Woosan said after stepping out of the floo. She turned as more of the crew of the _Scythe_ appeared, finding a brush on a nail and cleaning the Captain off.

"Are we missing anyone?" Frank said, the last to appear. He counted noses, "Right, we're all here, up the stairs, please."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Madame Pomfrey?"

The Healer turned, "Mr. MacDonald! It has been a long time since I've seen you, where have you been?"

The big fellow cleared his throat, "Off planet, ma'am. I'd like to introduce Captain Watson, we have some medical questions..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"The men are not here, go on, skin off," Poppy said to the two women. The small Asian woman started, but their guest Healer raised her eyebrow. "Is this part of her treatment?" she asked.

"Not at all, dear, it's part of yours," Poppy replied. "I'm sure you don't want to carry around all that metal and whatnot. I confess, you're the first Enhanced person I've met, and I know I wouldn't like to carry around a computer in my brain." She waved at the white sheet covering the bed, "Skin off and lie down, we'll see what we can do for you."

"Go ahead, Doc," Sandra said from where she was getting comfortable. She gave a little shriek as she floated a meter off the floor, "I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting that."

"Sorry," Poppy said, flicking her wand. "Now then, I've cast a hover charm on her, and for this examination and treatment, you must lie still. I will therefore cast a paralysis charm, you can still eat, breathe, and so forth... oh, my!" A representative outline of Sandra's body floated above her, breathing in time with her, a complex graph above that with her vital signs. "My dear, you have metal all through your body!"

"Does that mean she cannot be repaired?"

"Not at all, I was simply surprised. What about your left eye and the damage to the clavicle and scapula on her left side?"

"I was pistol-whipped, which lost me my eye, and had a gun fired at my left arm," Sandra replied. "I'm one of the tiny minority that doesn't regenerate, which is why I'm here."

Poppy grunted, walking about her patient. She flicked her wand over the collar, pursed her lips and grunted. "The faster I remove the metal from your nervous system, the quicker I can repair it, and then the ocular orbit and the arm. There will be some mild discomfort as the metal works its way through your flesh." She looked up, "It will tickle, and you will need to endure it. With that proviso, however, and the extended treatment... a week, ten days. Another few days for your eye and arm."

"Two weeks!"

"I regret the long duration, but..."

"Sold! What about my collar?"

"Piffle," the matron said. "I said removing the metal. Once it is no longer associated with your nervous system, it will be a simple matter to remove it from your throat, you can keep it as a desk ornament."

"What about cost?" Bones asked.

"Not your concern," Poppy said. "I'll discuss that with your Captain, but the major expense will be the custom potion formulations. Don't concern yourself. Now skin off, I want to see you." Another few wand-flicks and she hovered in mid-air as well. As with Sandra, Poppy strolled around, at one point asking, "These values for hemoglobin and blood sugars are normal?"

Doc Bones looked at the floating values, "Values are normal for my species except for heart rate and respiration, which are controlled by the enhancement. They are low by about ten percent."

"I see. I might need to bring in a neurologist to consult... Hmm... A bit longer, I think. Two and a half, possibly three weeks."

"I believe your term is 'Sold!', Healer?"

"It is. I shall of course keep you fully informed. Do you object if I bring your Captain in?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That bloody much?" Frank said, looking at the quote. "Ma'am, I could..."

"You will not," Captain Watson said firmly. "It is a ship's expense. How soon can you start, and will you accept a Purchase Order from the Solar Guard?"

"Immediately, with their consent. Professor Vector is Deputy, she is holding the school's wards while Minerva and Albus are on their honeymoon. She should be down in the Great Hall, taking care of the first-year invitations. The only difficulty is the custom potions, Severus is not here, they require a skilled hand with a cauldron."

"Ma'am, I had NEWT potions, but I'm not comfortable brewing those..." Frank worried.

"Hermione, in Blaise's shop, is a licensed Potion Mistress. Let me work up the quote without the potions, she can quote you separately." Poppy smiled, "It lets you show your shipmates the Alley and London, Mr. MacDonald."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mac followed along, as curious of these Terran zarroji as they were of her. Small shops rose two or three floors, sometimes with strange angles, crowds strolled, pushed, and shouted, vendors shouted about their wares, and they were in an odd assortment of clothings. Truth, they did seem to cover themselves, but they had expected that. Mas... Frank had paused, gathering them about, and said, "The shop we want is down this side street, on the left. Second door. It will smell funny, don't eat anything."

It was indeed a funny-smelling shop, and Mas... Frank seemed to know many people, and he introduced people around, including the Captain to a girl with large brown hair and a stained red shirt. They vanished into a smaller chamber for a while, then went with another young female with black hair and a pale-green shirt (no stains, though). Frank moved them all out, and to a small outdoor tiled area for tea and to wait. Off to the side, a small man watched them, drawing on large pieces of paper while the Captain, Frank and green-shirt girl went off to a large white building, a bank, to finalize the tungsten for her shipmates. Mac was happy to sip her tea, wait, and watch the zarroji watch her.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 11:50 (GMT) (12 Quintus 162: 11:37)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, docks, bays 3 and 4:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Benni Castellano waited for the two arriving ships, accompanied by the Council's Customs bloke. While she didn't care for him, he was too much of a 'true believer' in the Council of Elders and their propaganda, she maintained a polite, professional attitude toward him. He had been quite nervous when he first saw her, but she put that down to nerves from the presence of the Council Guard's Blacks and the supersonic flybys. If they had never heard sonic booms, she could well understand their fright. A large ship appeared over-water, silently heading for bay three as two more of the Council Guard's Blacks appeared. After a minute, the pilot flared, the landing gear crunching gravel as the hydraulics compressed with a hiss and the ship rolled forward a few meters, the gravel crunching under the fat tires. The pilot waved the girl with the umbilicals in, and Benni heard the clank of the shuttle's umbilical plate being locked into place.

The collared girl vanished back to the compound as the shuttle appeared, flaring and dropping into bay four on its skids. The shuttle's engines spooled down, and Benni waved at the two young women in blue uniforms, the co-pilot in the right hand seat returning it. Her girl stood by with the docking umbilicals, and the blonde pilot waved in the girl with the umbilical plate. Hull metal pinged while it cooled; the pilot slid her seat back, removing her headset and running a brush through her collar-length blonde hair before exiting the flight deck, while the co-pilot tapped at a datapadd. The shuttle's main hatch opened with a hiss, forming a ramp down the meter or so to the ground.

Benni recognized one of the people from the ship, and moved to greet her, the Customs bloke behind her as a couple more of the Blacks appeared.

"Ms. Wayne, or should I properly bow and scrape and say 'My Liege Lady, the Queen of the Terran Empire'?", she said with a grin.

Arthur shook himself and looked at her strangely, as "Benni!" Mattie accepted a hug, "Arthur, this is a Gotham friend and my former Camp Cupcake cell-mate, Benni Castellano, Benni, my intended (she waggled her hand), Arthur Morton of Columbus. Benni's one of my favorite Mafiosi..."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Arthur said politely. "My mom sent a CARE package for you, it's in the ship."

"I'm looking forward to it, thank you," Benni said with a laugh as people debarked from both ships. "Do you have a sister..." she turned and waved to the blonde pilot, who came over. "Ms. Morton... well, I guess there's no question about relationships," as the brother and sister hugged a few steps away. She added to Mattie, "The Council here is so inept, they can't even run a protection racket." One of the Blacks raised her sap, knocking her to the ground as three more advanced toward Mattie and the Mortons, who turned. Inside the shuttle, Helen Chin saw this, pulling down the sights for the anti-personnel gun and flicking it on.

"The four of you are confined by the Council of Elders," the leader said arrogantly, raising her club and twirling it. "If you're good and scream well, we'll give the bodies back after we've finished playing with you, especially the male," she added, licking her lips.

"I don't think so," Mattie said. "You're talking about MY mate."

"And MY brother," Elena said, as two of the Blacks grabbed Arthur. She pulled a dagger out of her boot as she went to a combat stance, circling right, adding, "I wouldn't make any sudden moves, my co-pilot has a twitchy trigger finger, and you've got a sighting laser on your forehead."

"What's a si..." she asked as she looked at the shuttle, her head moving up as she straightened, moving her left eye into the path of the beam. She screamed, dropping her nightstick and grabbing her face.

Mattie and Elena moved forward, while Arthur twisted free, shoving his two captors away from him. One moved toward Elena, raising her club as Elena's blade slid between ribs as the Black's club came down, glancing off her left shoulder. The Black suddenly gurgled, her eyes bulging as she twisted on the knife, the Black's club dropping from her suddenly nerveless fingers.

The Black moving toward Mattie stepped forward, swinging her club. Mattie ducked the club, grabbing and twisting the extended right arm and pulling the Black into a kick in the groin, while simultaneously breaking her elbow. The Black screamed in pain, dropping to the ground as people from both ships stopped, hearing the screams of agony; watching the brief fight, wide eyed.

The fourth Black, the one to club Benni, turned to assist her suddenly disabled mates, ignoring the woman on the ground. Benni rolled to her feet, an elbow strike to the back of her head dropping the Black as Elena's choked again, blood coming from her mouth as she struggled on the blade under her breast, finally pulling herself off and dropping to the ground. She shook and gave a final death rattle as Elena dropped the knife, taking a few steps to the side. She threw up, the left shoulder of her uniform stained with the Black's blood. She dropped to her knees as Arthur reached her, pulling her into a hug as Dr. Livingston shoved her way toward the dead girl.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ohmygodohmygod," Elena said as Arthur held her, "She just ran onto the blade, I..." she whispered as her brother held her, rubbing her back.

A few meters away, Dr. Livingston shook her head over her scanner's reading of the dead Black, while Hauptmann Gruber spoke to her as Wayne and Castellano pulled one of the conscious Blacks to her knees. The doctor went to the semi-blinded Black, who was moaning and clutching her face.

"We'll get you medical treatment, but we want to know who ordered this, we want to know everything."

"My eyes..."

"We can fix them, but we want to know," Castellano said. "Who ordered this, how did you get here so quickly, we want information." She shook the injured Black, then slapped her face. "Talk!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Hauptmann Gruber crouched next to Elena, carefully re-inserting the cleaned dagger in her right boot sheath. "Your first experience with death?" he inquired gently, as Arthur glared at him. "It is never pretty, Frau Morton, and in combat can be especially harsh. The first time I saw someone die was during training. I was not much older than your brother, when one of my mates foolishly stood up during a live-fire exercise with a machine gun. A belly wound like that is especially messy."

"I... she just... "

"She was your enemy," Gruber said. "She was fully intending to torture and kill not only you, but your brother. She was an arrogant, untrained fool, as well, especially when she saw you were armed. She ran forward, fully expecting you to submit to them. She, and her superior officers, are responsible for her death, Frau Morton, not you. She is responsible for making a foolish mistake in combat, her superiors are responsible for not adequately training or equipping her." He reached over, turning Elena to face him, and repeated, "SHE was a fool, SHE was responsible for her death. Were you to simply, meekly submit to their announced plans to torture you and your brother to death?" He waited patiently, silently, as she sniffled a bit, hiccuping once, then shook her head. "Speak to me," he said gently. "Who was responsible for her death?"

"She could have backed off," Arthur said. "She could have..."

"Shut up, Herr Morton," Gruber said. "If you want to go that route, YOU are responsible for the death and injury of those two enemies. They had you in a loose grip, you could have thrown them with ease. I have studied your record, Herr Morton, you hold a green belt, you could have disabled both of them with ease, or at the very least, created a distraction. Instead," he said roughly, "what you did is stand passively, as a sheep might, and then throw both of your captors toward your sister and Frau Wayne. You have hardly covered yourself with honor, Herr Morton, so shut up and let me help your sister." He turned back to Elena, "Frau Morton, I ask you again, who is responsible for the death of your enemy?"

She blinked several times, and Arthur again said, "She..."

"Herr Morton, you are not helping. Either shut up, go away, or I will knock you unconscious myself," Gruber warned once more. He helped Elena to stand, roughly brushing her off. "Your brother means well, but he has no experience with this," he told Elena. "I do, and I am giving you the benefit of that experience. You are now a combat veteran, Frau Morton; you have fought for your shipmates. You have millions of brothers and sisters now, Frau Morton, who have gone through exactly what you have. They have seen friends and enemies die, and they have moved through the experience. You will also. For now, I suggest you go aboard the _McCoy_, get a shower and a fresh uniform. Once you have done that, come see me, we shall drink, and we shall assist you further." He turned her, and gave her a gentle shove. She took a deep breath, and walked away, Gruber and Arthur watching her.

When she had walked around the stern, Gruber picked up Arthur by his jumpsuit and slammed him against the hull. In a low, dangerous voice, he told the teenager, "You are a fool, Morton. You may mean well, she may be your sister, but she has moved past that. She is a soldier, she has blood on her hands, and you cannot help her now. Furthermore, she got that blood by saving YOUR life. Only those other soldiers, those who have the blood of enemies on their hands, can help her now, and I suggest you let us do our jobs without interference."

"But..."

"To a civilian, like yourself, Morton, this may seem like murder. She may think she has committed murder, instead, she is a soldier, she has done her duty. You will not seek her out, you will not speak to her." He lifted the teenager further, moving closer, "You have a tendency to make moral judgments, and you believe that your position in Frau Wayne's bed gives you an authority you do not possess. She has a clearer head than you, and you will not seek out your sister. When she is ready, she may, may I say, seek you. Should you disobey me, you will add to my displeasure, Herr Morton." He carefully set the teenager on his feet, and turned, nodding his head. "Frau Wayne."

"Thank you, Herr Gruber," she said politely, and turned, "Mr. Morton, you will follow instructions on this. Our intention is to assist your sister, and neither you or I are qualified to do so. Herr Gruber is, and I will defer to his judgment. Should you disobey, you will earn MY displeasure as well as his." She turned slightly, "How may I help in this situation?"

"Buying the beer," he said, and she smiled. "She will want to get drunk, and she will need to do so with others who have 'seen the elephant', who can relate to her experiences. It will be a private party, and you are not invited, Frau Wayne."

"I understand. Shall I go see Elena?"

"We shall take care of our sister, Frau Wayne, but thank you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 14:30 (GMT) (12 Quintus 162: 17:22)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, beach:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You may as well talk," Piotr said, bored. "Your comrades have already given us plenty of information, and it's such a simple question. How did you get here so quickly?"

The blindfolded, bound Black looked toward his voice, "We aren't all as stupid as you think. We have lots of equipment! Why..." She reconsidered, then shut up.

"We do have quite a few drugs that we can use," Piotr told the prisoner. "Since you and your comrades are willing to use torture for your own amusement, that removes that restriction on us." The Black suddenly looked unsure, biting her lip, and the Russian sat back in his chair, rattling the ice in his drink as was his habit. She chewed her lips, and he checked his watch, "You're due for transfer to another location, and the doctor will be by to check on you. For now, I'll leave you in private to think," and heard him walk away.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 16:57 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The crew of the _M/V Scythe_ having decided (informally, and without a vote) that they would wait for their shipmates, settled down in the Great Hall with their datapadds. A few of the younger girls watched Callista Vector as she collated the different letters with swipes of her wand, while a flock of school owls perched on tables, watching them.

People looked up as a tall, balding man entered with a young female wearing a collar, joined by an older woman. Callista's wand-swishing ended, she walked over to air-kiss them, calling, "Edward! How are you and Emma today?"

"Excellent, my dear," he replied. "Who do we have here?"

"Captain Watson and the crew of the _Scythe_, just back from off-world," Vector replied. "They've got two of their people here for removal of those bloody awful collars. How was class?"

"Interesting, the professor went into more of the group psychology..." Aurora Sinestra started, and Edward Nigma approached the young man who had his hand out. "Edward Nigma, and this is my hopefully-soon-to-be adopted daughter, Emma."

"Frank MacDonald, Captain Watson of the _Scythe_, Second Officer Diijon, Third..." and he went around the table introducing people. Frank cocked his head, "I have heard the name before, and with a Yank accent..."

"I am from Gotham, as is Ms. Wayne, my niece," and Watson said, "Oh, you're Master Eddie. The girls on Windfall miss you."

"I do hope they are well treated," he said pensively. "While that was not a pleasant experience, without it, I would not have met Emma or Aurora," and he folded his arms protectively over the young girl's shoulders.

"Very well indeed," Watson said reassuringly. "Let us sit, have a cuppa, and we can have a nice chat."

"I would enjoy that," Edward Nigma said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 3, 2002: 22:15 (GMT) (12 Quintus 162: 22:02)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, beach:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Helen Chin stood her post, keeping the curious away, only letting the occasional resupply of beer and booze past her, and that for only a few meters. She had been glad to accept this duty, even though she had politely been 'un-invited'. She understood. This was a private party, one of exclusive membership.

Warriors, those who had spilled the blood of an enemy.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"For me, it was a pirate," Hikaru Komatsu said, and sipped at his beer as the campfire crackled. "Little seven, eight meter go-boat in the Straits. Well, we had picked him up on radar, I was the deck officer of the watch, a mere ensign, and... "

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I should be there, I should..." Arthur fumed as he watched the campfire where his sister was.

"Neither one of us should be there," Mattie replied. "I know she's your sister, but now she needs something we can't provide, but Gruber can. Let it go, let them help her. She'll be all right."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"...and then she just... shuddered... and my blade, it made this sucking sound..." Elena said, and buried her face in her hands. "It was so... horrible..."

"The lungs have a partial vacuum during the cycle," someone said, taking a drink. Someone else handed her a partial bottle of vodka, and said, "Drink, comrade," and Elena tipped it back as he said, "In Afghanistan, a nasty, brutal war that we should never have been in..."

"Do not let our dear comrade from the Committee hear you speak against the benefits of socialism," another Russian said, and the first snorted. "We are well quit of that. I was in a convoy, spreading socialism to the rag-heads. We interrupted their favorite sport, killing each other, so they decided to teach us their own way of waging war. It was a particular mountain pass, and of course with rockfalls limiting it to a single lane. The muj took out the lead tank..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Thursday, July 4, 2002: 06:22 (GMT) (13 Quintus 162: 00:09)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, **__M/V McCoy__**, conference room:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Piotr, what do you have for us?" Mattie asked in the breakfast meeting.

"Not as much as I had hoped. I cannot use my full range of interrogation techniques be-"

"We're not here to torture them," Arthur interrupted.

"Mr. Morton," Piotr said wearily. "I have not done any more than bind them under separate, individual canopies. This is a security measure to prevent their conspiring a common story, and to prevent escape attempts. They receive food, water, and medical care by female physicians. Those physicians do not think they are tortured and you are more than welcome to verify that for yourself. They are treated in strict accordance with the Geneva Convention and the Istanbul Protocol; I invite you to point out where they are being tortured. The definition of torture I was trained in was 'the subject is under intense physical pain or gross bodily disfigurement, or believes he or she is in imminent danger of loss of life'. This does not qualify."

"Bullshit. Geneva Conventions on Prisoners of War, Article 17, and I quote, '_No physical or mental torture, nor any other form of coercion, may be inflicted on prisoners of war to secure from them information of any kind whatever. Prisoners of war who refuse to answer may not be threatened, insulted, or exposed to unpleasant or disadvantageous treatment of any kind._' As for my definition of torture? Torture is anything I wouldn't feel guilty about killing someone for, if they did it to me or Mattie."

"In that case, Mr. Morton, I shall quote back to you Article 13 on humane treatment of prisoners:

_'Prisoners of war must at all times be humanely treated. An unlawful act or omission by the Detaining Power causing death or seriously endangering the health of a prisoner of war in its custody is prohibited, and will be regarded as a serious breach of the present Convention. In particular, no prisoner of war may be subjected to physical mutilation or to medical or scientific experiments of any kind which are not justified by the medical, dental or hospital treatment of the prisoner concerned and carried out in his interest.' _Piotr cleared his throat, "Mr. Morton, their health or their lives are not in danger, nor are they subject to medical or scientific experiments or physical mutilation."

Mattie rapped on the table, "Gentlemen! Nobody's killing or torturing anyone!" She glared at both of them. "Piotr, I believe you had the floor?"

"Thank you, Frau Wayne." He took a sip of tea, "As I was saying, I was trained in interrogation techniques, and I may assure you that I am simply using a field-expedient method of confining them. We do not have any prisons or detention facilities, which is what those documents assume. We never anticipated fighting a war. For now, until we can work out something more permanent, they simply sit in the sand. They themselves are sadists, this is why this is so effective, their own minds work against them. They have memories of torturing others for their own amusement, they have confessed such to us." He leaned forward, "However, these are the equivalent of corporals and privates, and if we engage the Blacks again, we shall accumulate more of them. Currently, I am cross-referencing their information, catching their little lies and inconsistencies. This will not last much longer, my question is what do we do with them. They are not honorable enemies, we cannot offer them parole."

"We have a slaver device," Benni said, taking a sip of coffee. "Collar and belt them, let them assume that we'll sell them as slaves. It's what they would do." She looked over at the Morton kid, and wondered again what Wayne saw in him. She raised her hand, "I'm not saying to sell them as slaves, but the collars have a tracking circuit, like the courts use at home. We'll know where they are. I just don't want them here."

Gruber raised a finger, "If in fact the Elders have issued a 'capture and kill' order for our people, we need to withdraw them to a safe location. We do not have enough manpower to fight even an unconventional war, I have roughly one hundred troops."

"I think..." Piotr mused, sipping his tea, "We are in the opening moves of this chess game." He looked over at Mattie, "A game which you are somewhat familiar?" She nodded. "The Elders are playing white, and have lost a pawn. We can withdraw the troops from the Danube site for now, I would much prefer to fortify the River location. We can expand northward, back to Danube later."

"Before we leave there," Dr. Livingston said from the screen, "I want, if possible, a live pair or two of those black-and-grey wabbits."

"Wabbits?" Arthur asked. "Sounds like a cartoon."

"Hardly," Dr. Livingston snorted. "These things are a few kilos, about the size of a Pekingese, yet they've taken down animals five or six times their mass with poisoned quills. I want them so I can create an antivenin."

"I agree we need better intelligence," the banker, Mr. Jamie Burnet said. He looked down the table, "Mr. Morton, I would suggest two things, that you relocate to the River site, and that you assist Piotr. This will allow you to verify for yourself the treatment, and the training of any persons assisting him, and I would also suggest you assist him yourself. This also moves our chessboard King to a more secure location." He shifted to address the others, both here and on the various ships. "Ladies and gentlemen, I think it a safe assumption that if one detachment of the Council Guard has those orders, others will as well. In that case, we are indeed in an undeclared war, initiated with a sneak attack. We have multiple avenues to reply, for myself, I wish to sit down with Ms. Castellano and review business plans and records, I can think of several methods of financial warfare." He looked at Hauptmann Gruber, "One of which is to take control of both their decrepit light cruiser and their space station. We already control the air, this would give us control of both the orbitals and their asteroid mining operations."

"One always seeks to control the high ground," the German agreed. "For now, I can lend our Intelligence services some troops that are trained to NATO standards for POW handling and control." He shifted, "Herr Komatsu, we should have a good quantity of Hesco barriers and wire fencing, with some temporary fencing to block the wabbits from sanitized areas at the Danube site, we can use it as a supply dump for now."

Piotr nodded, "That will work, there are stone buildings that is next to the construction camp. Some wire fencing, a tent with some cots, and they can work if they want to, and we'll pay them," he continued. "I'll even offer them clothing, although given the sub-tropical location, it will probably be something like a smock. Fully in line with the Geneva Conventions." He turned, "Mr. Morton, I will be glad to have your assistance. I ask only one thing of you, that if you have a question, you ask me first, in private. We are dealing with psychology, which may not always have obvious cause-and-effect."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Pansy received the request for a special project, and shrugged. She, along with several of her people had seen the extremely brief fight, and knew Elena as a shipmate. They were concerned, and she had spoken to Wayne herself about Elena. She was still a little rattled, the whole fight hadn't taken more than a minute, thirty seconds perhaps.

"Wire fencing, tent, privy, water?" Jeffers asked with a yawn when she handed it to him. "No bloody problem. Not like these little twits can run anywhere."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

T'asi felt someone assist her to stand. "Are you going to hang me now?" she asked, and a woman's voice replied, "No questions. Can you walk?"

She staggered a bit, and was assisted, walking sideways at one point. She was knelt, and felt her legs and ankles in metal clamps. She whimpered, they were going to collar her as a slave! Her hair was brushed from her neck, and she felt her neck clamped, and she screamed, "No! No, please!" There was a brief moment of pain, then she landed on the floor, her wrists pinned behind her. She sobbed, "I'm a slave..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur watched as the captive Black was assisted out by her female guard (one of the repatriated hotel girls), then asked, "I thought we weren't going to have them as slaves."

"We aren't," Piotr replied. "Their collars are tracking and a limited pain circuit. They're jumping to the conclusion of what they would do, which is to collar and sell their enemies off." He gestured to the control panel, "You can see those are the only options enabled, and their maximum values." He scooped the control chips out of the small hopper, and shut the machine down. "You really should look over the operator's manual, it is a most interesting device."

"No, thanks," Arthur replied. He picked up his duffel bag, "Ready to relocate to a different castle."

Piotr chuckled and slapped his back. "Come now, I'm supposed to be the dour Russian..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

T'asi knelt as her neck was ringed by a leash, the locks screwed tight, as she looked down at the bright orange smock she wore. Her guard pulled her up to stand, and she shook her hair back. Taking a breath, she looked her blue-smocked guard in the eye, "Go ahead and sell me now."

Her guard chuckled, "No talking. We're taking a shuttle, and you get the window seat."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Sitting back in the surprisingly comfortable seat, she looked out a window as her guard clicked flat black straps into place, then took her own seat next to her. Other people boarded, there was some low conversation as T'asi looked around. She counted a total of twenty-two seats in pairs with a central passage. The craft was mostly full, she saw her two sister Blacks seated before her, collared with orange lights as she was, leashed and wearing the hideous orange tunics. Their guards sat next to them, as hers did. A female Terran came aboard, lowering the top half of the door into place, then pulling up the bottom stairs. She turned some levers and lights changed colors, then went through another door into a small control room, closing that door.

She saw the two males that had collared her take seats, and heard one say to another, "No in-flight magazine?"

"Too short a flight," the other replied. "Only a few minutes and eight hundred or so kilometers." She heard some clanking noises and looked out the window to see the ground fall away and the sea appear.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Circling, T'asi looked down at the Terran activity in the Forbidden Lands, and saw large machines moving about, people and things... she wasn't sure what they were. She saw two large boats, one with four domes being worked on, masons constructing large arches, and large dishes pointing at the sky. The craft she rode settled lower, flying among the trees, and grounding with the crunch of gravel. She heard clunks and bangs, the door to the control room opened, and a dark-skinned male Terran opened the main door. Turning, the Terran said, "Welcome to River City. Please return your seats to the upright and close all tray tables. Thank you for flying with us." There was an undercurrent of amusement, although she didn't understand the humor.

Her guard twisted a silver ring, releasing her own black straps, and leaned over to do T'asi's. "We're the last ones out, then a bit of a walk," she said, settling back and humming to herself.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

She walked, wrists pinned behind in her slave belt's cuffs, her guard holding the other end of her doubled-back leash and a large tan envelope. It was a pleasant walk along gravel paths, she could see the busy Terrans, a large number collared slaves like she would be, wearing different lights on their collars and different colored hats. Most worked topless, sweating in the light, wearing only their hats, collars, and slave belts as they operated machines and went about. She could see on the back of T'enno's leash ring the screws holding it closed on her neck. It was loose enough to be comfortable, but when the end was snapped in place, she wouldn't go anywhere her new owners didn't want. She wondered what kind of owner she'd get.

L'ani walked behind T'asi, who was behind T'enno, and watched the guards. Young female slaves, wearing blue tunics and blue collar lights, she wondered how they came to be trusted enough as guards to other slaves. She saw them wearing a thin silver chain around their necks, under their tunics, and wondered. '_How are the Elders to defeat the Terrans_?' she thought to herself, then turned down a different path to a low, white stone building with tall silver fencing gleaming in the star-shine.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

A few hours later, T'asi was brought in to a small room, her leash attached to the wire walls. Her guard stepped back as her interrogator took a seat. "You are confined under the laws of war, as enemy combatants," he told her. "My name is Arthur, under our laws you are only required to give us your full name, rank in the Guards, and identification number. All sessions are recorded," and he gestured at a small white tube mounted on the opposite wall. "Is this understood?"

"It is, master. When will I be sold?"

"You are not a slave, you are considered a free female, although you are confined as an enemy combatant. This is defined as wearing a recognizable uniform, under orders from higher authority, and carrying a weapon. Upon the end of this war, you will be offered repatriation back to the Island." He looked at a flat black panel, cords ran from it to silver boxes on the wall. "Your full name, rank, and identification number, please."

"T'asi, clan N'eo, my rank is Guardian, and there is no identification number."

"Thank you, T'asi N'eo..."

"Just T'asi, master, until I receive my slave name. Why do you not wear a mask, are you not afraid of the Plague?"

"T'asi, I will strike a deal with you, answer for answer." She nodded as master Arthur continued, "The Plague happened almost seventy years ago. We have checked the records of that time, in that year's harvest here on the island, most of the Saateen grain crop was ruined in a violent storm. The Elders at that time had to import Saateen grain from the original colony site, they had a large crop and were able to share."

T'asi nodded, "Now, at the time of the harvest, there was a celebration, and is common, the males ate bread and drank beer made from one grain, the females from another. The males ate Saateen, the females, something called O'olt." Arthur interlaced his fingers, "Now, we have scientific evidence for part of this, the contaminated grain. The rest, well..." (he grinned) "... we're people. Parties happen. What we think, there was a good time, people dancing, shouting, lots of beer being drunk, and some of the men may have noticed the bread tasting a little strange, but they didn't think too much about it. It looked all right, and the beer tasted fine, and so the party went on." Both T'asi and her female guard nodded. "Late at night, maybe twenty-seven or eight, people started to go home. The women took care of their males, putting them to bed, making sure the house was locked tight, lights were out and such. What none of the them knew was a microbe, the one we found was a microscopic organism, was in their males' guts and slowly poisoning them. They may have complained about a gut ache, a headache, but their females, their women just thought it was the beer and the party and let them sleep it off." The two girls nodded, T'asi saying, "That makes sense, master."

"Now, our healers, very smart people that specialize in diseases, have been able to duplicate this in the laboratory."

* * *

"You have recreated the Plague, master?" T'asi said in alarm, rising and struggling with her cuffed hands. The guard moved to push her back in the chair as Arthur raised his hands, "Calm down. I said 'in the laboratory'. It's not released, we don't have any plans to, and this is something that must be eaten." T'asi settled back, warily, "Now, in the males' stomach, the fungus was able to grow and breed on the food there, and over the next several hours, released enough poison to kill its host. So what happened is the women kissed their males good night, went to bed, and slept while they were slowly being poisoned. They wake up, go about their morning routine, and then when the men still aren't out of bed, they go to check, and to their horror, they're dead. They panic, the last thing they remember, is kissing them good night, and there's no mark of injury, so they _blame themselves_

."

"I would..." T'asi whispered. She took a deep breath, "The young, perhaps the male slaves that would not have eaten of the bad bread, they would survive, and the Source demands burial within a day's span from death, to prevent disease."

"Not enough time for a ship to get here, by that time all the evidence is burnt on a pyre of wood, or in a barge that dumps them at sea. By the time the home-world learns of this, all they can do is send a ship to evacuate the people that want to leave."

"But... what of the shuttle, the ship? What of the birth imbalance?" T'asi demanded.

"Going by the Council's records, the evacuation shuttles cleared what we're calling the Danube site first, the original and most heavily populated site. They then moved here, to River city, and finally to the Island. Now, this gave the Council time to think things over, and they realized that if they didn't leave, they would own the planet. There was a long, long argument about it, but eventually Daala took the day, they would decline evacuation."

"What did the people think?"

"They weren't told," Arthur replied. "The Council was operating under emergency law, which gave them total power until the emergency was declared over. They were the ones that decided to maintain the emergency, and to support it, they ordered everyone to wear breath masks, even though they weren't necessary."

"And the shuttle, the ship?"

"The evacuation shuttle was shot down," Arthur said. "We've found the wreckage underwater. The shuttle sent to the mainland site was also shot down, I can show you pictures. The radio transcripts say the locals demanded they land, so they could be evacuated, and the pilots, not wanting to let the Plague on board, refused. The locals threw a big rock, and they got lucky, destroying the shuttle."

"The ship, master?" a still-suspicious T'asi said.

"There, we don't have the best evidence," Arthur admitted. "We know the ship was destroyed, because the commander of the light cruiser sent a message to the Elders saying 'Target destroyed'. We don't know if they used a missile, planted a bomb, or simply rigged their compensator to fail. Any debris will be impossible to find after seventy years."

"The birth ratio, master?"

"There, we don't have any laboratory evidence. We don't have any dead children to examine, so you tell me, T'asi N'eo. When a woman here gives birth, what happens?"

T'asi blinked at him, "Master, when a male decides his females will give birth, he takes a drug called Maat root. He removes the slaves' belts, ties them down and..."

Arthur waved that off, "No, several months later, when the female is ready. How do they do it, is a Healer called, or is the pregnant female hung from a tree..."

"You Terrans have a strange way of giving birth," the guard said, to T'asi's giggle. T'asi smiled, "Master, I thank you, I needed that. A licensed birth-watcher is called, the pregnant female is masked and given drugs to ease her pains, even slaves. It is all very private, and after time, the Healer, the birth-watcher, emerges with the new infants."

"Normally, how many infants, what percentage survive?"

"Of what I know, two of three survive, usually the female infants. The birth-watcher takes the others to be recorded, leaving the healthy infants," T'asi replied. "How do you Terrans do it?"

"It is done in a hospital, a large building with many Healers. The father, the male is there with the mother, who is usually conscious during the procedure. Normal births are one or two, random chance being male or female. I have four sisters and two brothers, my parents are considered unusual to have seven children. Most have two or three," Arthur said. "Now, given what you've told me about the birth-watcher, let me tell you about a certain place called 'China'. They suffer from overpopulation, and so their Council decreed a one-child policy. A couple, a family was only allowed one (he held up a single finger) child. If that child was killed, that was too bad; they had had their one child, and another one was illegal. When the pregnant female went to give birth, if it was an illegal child, it was not allowed to draw breath." He tented his fingers, resting his chin on them as he gazed at T'asi, who gazed at him in horror.

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "Now, in China, male children were valued more than female. Therefore, if the infant was determined to be female, a bit of money, a few coins could be passed, and the girl would never draw her first breath, and thus would not count as a child. It would be very sad, but the couple could, legally, try again, and hopefully this child would be male." He sat back in his office wheely chair, "Once again we have no evidence. What about children born without a birth-minder?"

"I do not know of any, master," T'asi said, looking down at her orange-cloth covered belly. "I think of the Healer that has visited my farm, that I have known for all my life, and to think he would..." she shuddered. "And... you say you have no evidence. This is theory, it might not be correct," her voice was hopeful.

"I hope so, T'asi. I pray that you are right, and I am wrong. To kill an innocent, helpless infant..." Arthur took a deep breath, shaking his head. He took a deep sigh, "You owe me a few questions, T'asi N'eo. What were your orders and instructions regarding us?"

* * *

"Master, as I know, our Commander received orders from Elder Paavue to seize and bring you to him to gain wisdom. Most do not survive the passing of that wisdom." She shrugged, "I am only a Guardian, master, it is not for me to question the wisdom of those greater than I; especially an _Elder's_ wisdom. They are why we have survived so long, their Guidance to provide." She said this last as a rote quotation, then sat back, chewing her lower lip and cocking her head. "Master, what happened to the others, the ones on the different colonies like this?"

"You know there is a light cruiser in orbit, docked to the space station?"

"Yes, master, it protects us from pirates and other evil-doers, such is the Guidance of the Elders."

Arthur grunted, "That cruiser hasn't undocked, or had serious maintainence, for many years. As I said, we believe the home-world sent a ship to evacuate the survivors of the plague. Daala and the other Elders at the time refused to allow the shuttle for the Island site to land, and shot it down when it tried to land at what is now West Port."

"I do not believe they would do such a thing, master!" T'asi exclaimed, leaning forward.

"You tell me, then. Why is the missile installation at the Port short one missile? You can see the empty location for it, where is it? There is rust and corrosion on the mount, so it wasn't fired recently. What do the Elders say?"

She sat back, looking thoughtful, "The Elders say, master..." she chewed her lip again, "They say that an enemy, a slaver, came to attack us..."

The guard chuckled, and raised her eyebrow to Arthur as they turned to her. "May I respond to that?" She tapped her own collar, "I am a bred slave, I have crossed my wrists to the Terrans. What the Elders say makes no financial sense. The slavers are in business to make money, it would cost them far more to do what you say than to simply breed their own slaves, or to buy them from pirates."

"In addition, Elder Baasht has his own slave farm. You know the Elders, if a slaver or pirate were to attack, wouldn't it make more sense to them to simply strike a deal?" Arthur shifted, "No, T'asi, we have probes mapping the land and the seas, we have found the wreckage of the shuttle underwater. My question to you is why would the Elders want to start a war?"

"A war, master? No one wants war!"

"And yet you yourself said the Elders issued orders through Paavue to seize my mate and myself and bring them in for the transfer of knowledge. Now, did you really expect us to meekly cross our wrists to the Elders and let them kill us? Were your orders possibly mis-understood?" T'asi's mouth was open, she stared at him. "You expected the Terran Empire to simply write us off? To simply ignore an attack of this type, especially without any formal notice?"

"Empire?" she asked softly. "You're the..."

"Crown Consort Arthur," he said, nodding politely. "Now, T'asi N'eo, how would you interpret that?"

"But... T'enno said that this would be a simple snatch, that we would simply club any... and B'iana... where is B'iana?"

"B'iana is dead." Arthur said. "She was foolish enough to challenge an armed enemy with no training or equipment other than her nightstick. I personally blame both B'iana and your superior officers for poor leadership, training, and support. We have given her a proper burial." He regarded his prisoner, "As for yourself, you struck down Ms. Castellano without provocation, and then turned your back on her. Why does it surprise you that she would rise and strike back?"

"I am a Council Guard! She should have submitted to me!"

Arthur simply looked at her. "We would prefer to have you join the Empire willingly and peacefully, however, when the Elders ordered you to kidnap, torture and kill my mate and myself..." he shrugged, and T'asi's blood ran cold. "The Elders initiated a state of war with the Empire..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Thursday, July 4, 2002: 12:23 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Buckingham Palace:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Her Majesty turned away from her daily 'boxes', the daily sensitive information on the various departments in her realm, at the double-tone indicating a high priority email. Turning to her computer, she checked, finding one from Arthur Morton. Clicking on it, it automatically decrypted, and she studied it.

"Well, that we can determine easily enough," she said, and rang for her private secretary.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Thursday, July 4, 2002: 12:42 (GMT)  
Terra, University of London, Institute of Education:**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Heads turned as there was a rap on the door, and two Bobbies walked in. "Is there a Professor Severus Snape here?" one asked.

"I am he," Severus said, hand going to his wand.

"Please put your kit together, guv. I don't know why, but Her Majesty has suddenly developed an intense interest in your well-being. We're to deliver you to her personal physician at once."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Might I inquire, Your Majesty, what this is about?" Professor Snape requested as he knelt.

She studied him and motioned to a chair. "I understand, Professor Snape, that you are informed as to the Sisal project, and Ms. Wayne and Mr. Morton's current location?"

He settled himself, "I developed and brewed the potion that enables it, Your Majesty. It enables email at interstellar distances. I am not aware of their specific location, but that they are currently off-planet."

She regarded him in silence, then passed over a sheet of paper. He noted the timestamp of a little over an hour ago, and that it had been sent directly to Her Majesty from Arthur Morton. On it, he had written, briefly:

_Your Majesty,  
I would greatly appreciate knowing the current health and mental state of Professor Severus Snape. I understand he is currently taking classes for educational licensing at a London University, although I do not know which one, or his class schedule. _

_This is in relation to the possible fulfillment of a prophecy, one which he may know of.  
In gratitude,  
Arthur Morton _

"Which prophecy are you aware of, Professor?" she asked softly. "While Mr. Morton does have a rather strong idealistic streak in him, if this is in relation to my people, or my planet, I would appreciate knowing."

"I am not aware of any regarding myself," he replied. "Or at least any still extant. As far as my mental state, it is, to the best of my knowledge, quite stable, as is my health. Shall we inquire of Mr. Morton?"

"I intend to," she said, and turned to her keyboard.

* * *

_Mr. Morton,  
Professor Snape currently occupies a chair approximately four feet away from me, and admits to excellent physical and mental health. I have had him examined by my personal physician, and must agree. _

* * *

_He is unaware of any currently extant prophecies regarding himself. Please enlighten us at your earliest convenience. _

* * *

_~HRH E. Windsor _

* * *

She read this to Professor Snape, hit 'Encrypt and Send', then turned to regard the Potions Master. "While we wait for Mr. Morton's reply, I would like to discuss your teaching style, Mr. Snape. I have had from several sources that you can be extremely unpleasant to your students. While a few might blossom under this, most young children's spirits can be easily crushed." She held up a hand, "I am aware that you teach a dangerous subject. However, a few less barbed insults, a bit more explanation as to _why_ would surely..." Her Majesty's email binged twice, and she said, "Mr. Morton, or his friends, have not said anything to me regarding this. I have other sources, Mr. Snape. I would suggest you bear my suggestion in mind."

Turning, she checked her email, then said, "I apologize, Professor. Mr. Morton asks me to keep this confidential." She turned, standing and extending her hand. "I do thank you for seeing me on such short notice, and hope you have a pleasant day. James will see you out."

* * *

She waited until the door closed, then sank back into her chair. '_How to handle THIS little... problem_?' she wondered, then upon further consideration, '_No, not a problem. Potentially a solution to several problems at once_,' she mused. Taking a sip of her tea, she decided to call Lady Sarah, and yes, Mrs. Wayne.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Thursday, July 4, 2002: 17:48 (GMT-5)  
Terra, Cambridge, MA, MIT housing:**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We didn't want you to be neglected," Karen said, and the city policeman looked up at her. He was a younger bloke, late twenties, tall, with a gleaming shaved head, and skin the colour of chocolate. He pushed the cruiser's door open with his foot, accepting the plate she handed him.

"Thank you, miss," he said, taking the Coke™ from her. "I was getting a little hungry, and I can smell that food. What are they arguing about?"

"Whether a particular problem requires four, eight, twelve, or twenty-seven dimensions to be solved," she said with a smile. She waved her hand over her head, "Way over my poor brain. I'm just here to keep a weather eye on Anne, and take a business course or two."

"You would be Karen, then," he said. He cleaned his hands with a paper napkin, offering his hand. "Chuck Schumer. I'd offer you a seat..."

"No worries, I'm good," and waved her wand, creating a floating seat for herself. He chuckled, "Damn, I wish I could do that."

"It's a skill one acquires," she said with a small smile, offering her wand. "Go on, wave it about, see if sparks come out." To his slight disappointment, none did, and she smiled at him. "It's a recessive gene, a skill. Some are natural-born athletes, or pianists, or artists. I'm sure you know some."

"My wife, Kathy," he nodded. "She plays the violin like nobody's business, but she works as an accountant, at least until (he patted his stomach) our second makes his or her appearance." He took a bite of his hamburger, chewed and swallowed, then offered his wallet full of photos.

"I see you're a traditional father," Karen teased. "Your wife is beautiful, and so is your daughter. Six months?"

"Twenty," he said, motioning for her to go on to later photos. "You said you're here to keep an eye on your sister?"

"Anne's not really used to this time," Karen admitted. "Keep it quiet, please, but she was in stasis for several hundred years, so in some ways, she's sixteen, in others she's either six hundred and summat, or a year or so. Still, she's having the time of her life, I'm just here to keep her from playing in traffic, not to keep all the bumps away." She took a sip of her own Diet Coke™, "As for myself, I've been taking business classes at the University of London, transfer credits from a prestigious engineering school like MIT in maths will certainly look good on my transcripts and CV."

"True," he agreed. "Lord knows these kids are smart, dear _LORD_ are they smart, and they know it. I thank God most of them were brought up right. We get very few calls from the university, and most of those are possession of some weed. Even their pranks, we can laugh right along with them." He glanced at Karen, "You've heard about those?"

"Oh, my yes," she replied. "I wish I could have seen some of them, though."

"Same here," he agreed. "I think the department favorite is the car on the dome." He gestured vaguely, "They assembled a campus police car, complete with working light bar, a uniformed dummy, and a box of donuts on top of one of the campus domes." He shook his head, "The only way I can think of to do that would be a crane, or maybe a chopper, but they did it some other way. Smart damn kids..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Thursday, July 4, 2002: 20:13 (GMT) (13 Quintus, 162: 14:00)  
Windfall, River City, detention:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The Terran male simply held the steel door open, gesturing them in, and the three former Blacks walked through. The door clanged shut, and they winced, hearing the rattle of chains. T'asi regarded the orange smock she and the others wore, in large black letters it read '**POW**'. Master Arthur had said it stood for 'Prisoner of War' in Terran.

L'ani and T'enno walked next to the stone wall, while it only came to shoulder level, extending above it for a good three or four meters was thick wire with cutting blades every few centimeters, hung on metal posts. Above them, more wire crossed the sky, and large coils of cutting wire lay stacked against the wall and the fence. They had never seen so much steel, it was worth a fortune...

'_No, it wasn't_,' T'asi told herself, recalling the shuttle flight, watching the activity above the forbidden river, seeing the lush green land, seeing a herd of shonnen... She regarded the wire that caged them again. If they were to free their hands, to try climbing it to escape, they would cut themselves to pieces, and this was only the first set of wire, and they wore slave collars... The Terrans would know instantly where their new slaves were... She sank to her knees, a collared female in a bright orange tunic, as it sank home that the Elders had moved against an Empire that could crush them without effort. With a muffled sob, she started to cry.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That didn't take long," Piotr said dispassionately as he watched the security cameras. The sobbing female, the orange and green lights on her collar fell on her side, wrists bound behind her as she curled up in a ball. One of her sister prisoners slid down against the wall, staring up at the razor wire hung above her, while the third started to pace, snapping a comment they didn't catch to her sisters.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Friday, July 5, 2002: 06:00 (GMT) (13 Quintus, 162: 23:47)  
Windfall, River City, detention:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

T'enno woke as she heard the steel gate, a Terran female with the vest of a Healer entered. The Healer regarded them, finally saying, "You may sleep in the tent, there are cots for you, beds. You do not have to sleep in the dirt." She extracted a slave control from a vest pocket, showing it to them. "You know what this is?" and T'enno nodded, she would _not_ grovel like a slave, even as the others knelt.

"Good. If you misbehave, you get zapped," and T'enno felt only contempt for them as the Terran put it back in her pocket. "All three of you are aware of where you are?" The other two whimpered, T'enno nodded. "You watched as you were flown here, you are several hundred kilometers from the Island. In order to escape, you would need to free your hands, get out of this pen without detection, make your way across a large river that is about five kilometers wide, overland, then figure out not only how to construct a boat without tools, but to navigate over open ocean, correctly, in order to reach the Island. All of this time, you are collared using the same technology that the Elders use on their pleasure slaves, and Baasht uses on his farm girls."

T'enno's gaze snapped to the Healer, who smiled slightly. "We know quite a few things about the Elders. Some things we do not. I will be honest with you, you may or may not return the courtesy. The only difference between you three and one of Baasht's slaves is the color of your lights, and your legal status. You will be here for the duration of this war. Cooperate, earn our trust and you will receive benefits, such as mail and the chance to leave this corral to work, and hopefully get to know us. Should you decide to work, you will be paid, we shall deposit the money in your accounts."

"On the other hand," the Healer said, "Should you decide to be stubborn, you will remain bound as you are, and have nothing to do during the day but stare at the wire. I, or another female Healer, will visit you at this time every day. You will not be raped or tortured, but you will most certainly be bored." She gestured, "There is a water pipe next to the tent, it is not drugged in any way. It is the same water we use. Next to the water pipe is a machine that you can use to suction yourselves. Sit on it, pull the triangular chain with your foot. Once we have finished construction of the new facility for you and the other prisoners, you can shower, and you will be fed twice a day, at ten and twenty hours. You will go to sleep at twenty five hours, and be up at five. Do you have any questions?"

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

L'ani sat against the wall, head back to see the free blue sky above, feeling the collar on her throat, the steel holding her wrists behind her, and the thin cloth of her orange smock. It wasn't a slave smock, it didn't have the yellow of a slave, but it was the same design. She lifted a foot, examining her leather sandal, the cords tying it on her ankle. Putting her foot down, she crossed her legs, seeing the black steel of the slave belt she wore covering her female parts. She stood, watching as T'enno paced, keeping away from the steel gate. Not only was it locked and chained, it had a slave barrier on it, the warning light above was lit. She scuffed the dirt, then went under the small sleeping cloth, the only semblance of privacy she had now.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

T'asi stood, thinking, '_I've suctioned, and I've drank. That's consumed a possible three minutes of the eighteen hundred in this day. The next day I've another eighteen hundred minutes to consume, and eighteen hundred the next, and the next. By the SOURCE, I'm bored!_' She looked out through the coils of wire, and if she adjusted her stance, she could see the busy Terrans, listen to them talk and shout, hear the roar of their machines, see them be...

* * *

'_Useful. Busy. Productive. Like I was. Now, all I can do is stand and watch. I can't even talk to them. They don't trust me, they don't like me, the only reason I'm alive is their own rules_...' She sighed to herself. '_Even their slaves are busy, doing, learning from them. I can see them, see their different colored hats, I can't even cross my wrists and submit to them! I simply have to wait. Wait for them to crush the Elders. The Elders that... that were FOOL enough to start a war, to offer INSULT to an Empire. An Empire that so far out matches the Elders that it's not even a jest, but the Elders don't even REALIZE that. They should offer apology_...' She turned; knelt like a slave, '_I wonder what it would be like as one of their slaves_...'

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

T'enno paced, around and around the small oval pen that held her, fists clenched in the steel cuffs that held her wrists behind her. She was angry, why hadn't the Elders sent their shuttle to rescue them, to free them? She would take revenge on these Terrans, who dared to bind her, collar her, treat her as a mere slave! She would never submit to them, NEVER! She saw T'asi turn and kneel as a slave, knees wide, and snorted to herself. She was weak! T'enno was strong, not only would she remain strong, she would deduce a way to strike a blow against the Terrans! Empire be damned!

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The watcher saw one of the prisoners exercise, one foot up on the wall, then the other. She saw the prisoner's fists clench in her cuffs, she tossed her hair back, then shoved herself through the wire as the other two in her cell started to scream. She touched the comm, "Escape attempt on cell one, injured prisoner," then went back to scanning the vid screens.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

T'asi screamed "NO!" when T'enno started to shove through the wire, getting tangled in it, her hands still cuffed behind her. In seconds, the Terrans were there as T'enno screamed, her leash caught, her arms and legs covered with blood and cuts as her collar shocked her. Two guards threw L'ani and T'asi down, one standing on their leash chains. They turned their heads to watch as she was lifted off the wire, a Healer doing a quick examination. She was laid on a stretcher and carried out, while they were hauled to their feet and pulled out after her.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You thought you would escape?" One of the Terrans asked, and L'ani remembered him from her collaring. Not the nice Master Arthur, the other one, they did not see much of.

"No, master," she replied. "I was under the cloth, resting," and T'asi said, "Master, T'enno cannot see the clouds in the sky. She still believes that the Elders will win, and I do not see how. Even if Elder Paavue had war-suits..."

"Combat suits?" Master Arthur asked. "Where are they?"

L'ani traded looks, "We do not know, master. We do not even know for certain they exist, they are the make of stories told about the tea-pot after a long day. I'm certain you have such stories."

"Even if the stories are true, masters," T'asi said. "Even if the wildest claims are fact, I do not know of any in the Guard that have been trained in their use, or of the drugs that are claimed to give one the strength of a shonnen."

"Tell me the stories of those drugs," Master Arthur said. "Remember we will check what you say. You have lost points today with us, if you are to restore them, you must be honest."

"Master, these are the stories told about the tea-pot, the same as untold riches in the skies," T'asi warned. "The first is a drug, most commonly known as P'rar. It is said to be a shade lighter than the skin of a farmer-slave, thick as heavy cream. One drinks a small bit, and one does not feel arrowheads, or the darts of weapons."

"Or the fire of torches," L'ani added. "One can lift a shonnen-wagon with P'rar, and throw it at one's enemies, but thought is erased. If one is told to run, one will run until one runs off a cliff."

"Even if one does not run off the cliff, the mind is said to be erased. If one is then told to punch a wall, one will do so, regardless of injury, until one is either killed or told to stop." T'asi shuddered. "Thank you, masters, but I pray to the Source I will not taste it. As your slave, I will do so if ordered, but..." she shuddered again.

"You have always been the artistic type," L'ani said.

"And you, L'ani? I see you gazing at the sky all day, what do you think about?" Piotr asked.

"Music, master," she replied, and tugged at her wrists. "Were my hands free, I would write it, but..."

"That makes no sense to me," Arthur said. "How did you both end up in the Guard?"

"Our families lived only a few kilometers apart, master," L'ani said. "We grew up together, at each other's farms, and when our basic education was complete, in order to have further training, it had to be paid for. As part of our service in the Guard, Elder Paavue pays for our instruction with masters, music for me, art for T'asi. It disturbs the other students when we wear our uniforms, they do not like the Blacks."

"We were fortunate that we could usually slip out early, run the few kilometers to class, and change behind the school buildings," T'asi said. "In return, we did what we could for the masters and our classmates. Others like T'enno would inflict the pain, we would bring them to and from the room of learning."

"That is why we wish to cross our wrists to you, masters," L'ani said. "We trained on slaves that had displeased their owners, we owe a debt to the Source to cleanse our accounts. It is too easy for us to think of ourselves as pulled tight by the ropes. Those slaves cleansed their accounts, we wish to do the same."

"How many others in the Guard will feel this way?" Master Arthur asked.

"It is not something one brings up about the tea-pot, but... perhaps four or five of seven?" T'asi speculated. "More if one's past identity could be concealed."

"Only the ones who believe in the Elders like T'enno, and the commanders who have taken a personal loyalty oath would not," L'ani said. "Others... when one sees a young mother screaming for her child as..." she shuddered. "How would that not affect you?"

"Paavue, the Elders see only the final report," T'asi said. "They do not have to deal with that mother asking for her child." She took a deep breath, "Masters, until you allow me to cross my wrists, my only concern is my family. I wish to protect them, the Elders can look to themselves."

"Master, I say the same as T'asi," L'ani said. "Protect my family and I will speak of both what I know as fact, and what I have heard about the tea-pot. Do we have a bargain?"

"I think that can be arranged," Piotr said. "What can you tell me about the war suits?"

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

* * *

"So, was that all for the tea-pot, Herr Morton?" Piotr asked once the prisoners had been returned to their enclosure.

* * *

"Most of it probably. There are combat drugs out there, I was offered some by a shady character on Epsilon Eridani III and did some research afterwards." Arthur popped open his wrist comp, which after a few whispered instructions, displayed holographic images of various drugs and their delivery methods. "Most species have some form of super steroid like Venom, but nothing like the Miraclo the first Hourman supposedly used. Many also have speed enhancers, but nothing like Velocity 9 that Vandal Savage put on the streets a few years ago."

* * *

"I remember Velocity 9. Very nasty."

Arthur nodded in agreement. "There's nothing in my files that'd do everything those girls claimed for P'rar though."

* * *

"Which does not mean that it does not exist."

* * *

"No," Arthur admitted. "But it's not the way I'd bet."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Friday, July 5, 2002: 22:14 (GMT) (14 Quintus, 162: 10:01)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, **__M/V McCoy__**, Owner's cabin:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"How's it going over there?" Mattie asked, and Arthur sighed on the screen. "I'm learning things about the Elders and the Guard that I wish I didn't know. There was an escape attempt today, one of the prisoners freaked and tried to burrow through the razor wire." He scrubbed his face. "Take them out quick, please."

"Working on it. Mr. Burnet has a plan of financial attack, that's where I spent most of the morning, with him and Benni." Mattie yawned, "I am still not used to thirty hour days. How's the prisoner?"

"Lots of cuts on her arms and legs, she'll be okay, but she had to be tied down. She's a 'true believer' in the Elders. However, we do have new information on possible hidden weapons that Paavue has allegedly squirreled away against a rainy day." He yawned, "Excuse me. I'm not used to the longer days either. I stopped taking naps when I was six, but I think I'm gonna have to start again."

"Too bad Binns isn't still teaching."

"Yeah," he agreed. "One of the captured Guards is apparently a talented artist, she did some very nice sketches, but they do warn that these are the weapons of myth. They've never seen them, they're rumor. No training, no solid information, and they include combat drugs as well."

"Dark clouds... Joy and happiness. You'll send those over?"

"We'll transmit for the morning conference. There's also a kind of magazine-fed crossbow that's mounted on a wooden tripod, some sort of crude flamethrower, both of which _have_ been seen, and we have sketches of them. Shouldn't be a problem for a sniper. What concerns me is a combat drug, names are variations of P'rar. Thick, light yellowish drug taken orally, and gives you super-strength and endurance, pain resistance, but it wipes out higher brain functions, supposedly permanently. Could be a Venom variant." He scrubbed his face again, "Damnit, I was hoping to lie on a beach with you."

"Not fight a war, I know. You heard about the attacks in East and West Port?"

"Yeah, we got 'em. Why the hell don't the Elders... doesn't Paavue change his tactics?"

"Dunno." She sighed, "Look, I'm sorry about Elena..."

"Yeah. She called earlier, she's going to deadhead over, and we'll have a nice, long talk." He sighed in turn, and she said, "I'm going to the lounge, I'll do what I can for you with Gruber. I think he's happier that you're 'contributing' instead of simply bitching." She raised an eyebrow, "I assume you still are?"

"I think Piotr's trying to co-opt me. We're splitting the interrogations, I'm doing the initials, he's taking the hard-core ones. I think a lot of the Blacks would be just as happy to burn their uniforms, once we reassure them that there's no way for their fellow prisoners to know if they've talked or not, their major concerns are reprisals by the Elders on their families. We've told them we don't mind if they scream and curse at us in the cells, what gets said in the office stays there."

"Isn't there a female guard?"

"Yeah, but she's cool with it because we treat them like one of us. They want weapons training, and we're building an outdoor pistol range. No, the prisoner is led in, her leash is clipped to the wire mesh wall, you know the Hescos?" She nodded. "Tyvek bag filled with dirt and gravel inside a wire mesh form. Anyway, there's the prisoner, the female guard, and myself, and it's all recorded. That's what else Piotr does, reviews and sends me suggestions. I've even had the prisoners apologize to me for what they've said."

"That's... strange."

"I think all the Blacks are schizo to some extent. So, if we can obscure and hide their identities to their satisfaction, a good, oh, sixty or seventy percent would cross their wrists to us tomorrow." He finished his tea on screen, "We've actually got some good suggestions regarding that, they'd like to send and receive mail, but not through Baasht's shonnen mail, they trust it about as far as they could throw a shonnen team. Perhaps a drop-box or courier account." He yawned, "Long day today."

"Sixty or seventy percent?"

"Probably, and yeah, I'm shaking my head about it too. Different value system, they want to 'cleanse their honor with the Source'. An extreme version of confession, I guess."

"Absolution, the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the forgiveness of sins," his Catholic almost-wife said. "Eh, a collar is some penance in my book. Go to bed, dear."

"Yes, dear. See ya tomorrow. Love ya."

"Love you too. G'night." and they disconnected.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie paused when she entered the common room, but Elena saw her and waved her over. She stepped over her sister-in-law's stretched out legs, Elena asking, "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. I just talked to your brother," Mattie replied. "Lots of wonderful new information. Apparently the Elders, or at least Paavue have some weapons squirreled away against a rainy day."

"Wonderful," Gruber said.

"You'll have sketches and information for the morning meeting," Mattie said. "Arthur did distinguish between stuff his sources have seen, first hand, and rumored weapons. Those include combat suits and a zombie combat drug. He did think that most could be handled with a sniper. They trot out their magazine fed crossbow, boom, it blows up."

"Nice to have those around," Elena said. "Anything else?"

"You're going to deadhead over tomorrow?" She nodded. "Apparently, a good number of the Guard is only in place because of possible reprisals to their families. They've got their share of 'True Believers' (she finger-quoted), and the commanders are apparently under personal loyalty oaths. The rest, if the security of themselves and their families can be assured, would rather burn their uniforms and cross their wrists. It's apparently squaring their spiritual account with the Source, a major act of absolution."

"Interesting, like the resurgence of the Church under Communism," Captain Senyavin said. "If you can take them out quickly, their honor is satisfied. They have done their duty, and have fallen before a superior foe."

"It somewhat explains why they didn't fight very well," Elena said. "I had a question. Why does everyone suddenly act like I'm rabid?"

"My fault..."

"No, mine," Hauptmann Gruber said. "My orders. You have joined a rather exclusive club..."

"Yeah," she replied, and took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. "When I get some home leave, I'll talk to my dad. He served in the US Navy."

"There is a difference," Captain Senyavin said. "The Air Force, the Strategic Rocket Forces, the Navy, when they fight, they kill _things_. Objectively, we know that the fighter we shoot down is manned, and we hope the pilot ejects safely, but that method allows a certain emotional distance." He regarded Elena, "This is why I, and certain of my crew, did not join you. The infantry, on the other hand, because of their position, becomes much more intimately involved. Should you wish it, upon our return, I will introduce you to several Spetsnaz and Naval Infantry, our Marines, that I know."

"I... I think I'd like that," she said, taking another deep breath. "Thank you." She turned, "Mattie, I had a question. Why didn't you use your Ring?"

"Ring?" Gruber asked.

"Yeah," she said. She pulled something off her right hand and tossed it to him. "Oan power ring. Been through Lantern training and everything." She spiraled a hand up, "Whoopee. To answer the question, I don't like using it. It's a God weapon, and at the time, I had it locked in the safe in my quarters. The whole thing was over in, what, thirty seconds or so? No time to fetch it."

Senyavin accepted the Ring, examining it. It was a flat grey ring, simple in design... but he agreed, it was indeed a God weapon.

Ms. Wayne continued, "If I wanted to grind the planet to gravel, that's what I would use. To topple a government, it's like using a quark bomb on a Neanderthal living in a cave. It's overkill, massive, massive overkill. This is still a chess game. They've moved first, but we've taken the first pawn." She accepted it back, then leaned forward, "Elena, you asked about the management types sitting around and collecting their fat paychecks?" She waved her hand, "Welcome to the boardroom. This is what gets kicked around. No stupid questions here, fire away."

"We need to see if the Elders have, in fact authorized an attack, or it was a solo move by Paavue," Gruber said. "I can see things either way. If it is authorized, Paavue will have political cover, but will also have to split the spoils. If he is moving on his own, which his personality type would consider, he would use the Elders to claim authorization and lie to the troops, but be out on a limb politically. He may consider the spoils of war worth the political risk."

"You would think they'd change tactics if they knew they didn't work," Elena offered.

"Ah, but do they know?" Gruber asked. "We captured the local garrison's only vehicle. It is entirely possible that the local commander's report hasn't made it to High Town if it has to go by shonnen post. In that case, it wouldn't arrive for a few days."

"Also, these are not police, Elena. They are enforcers for the Elders, and their tactics evolved against a civilian population. Kick in the door at three am, drag them off and torture them," Mattie said.

"If Hauptmann Gruber will release you, I want you to take a check ride with Lt. Jourdan," Mattie said, referring to the senior pilot. "Aside from the whole '48 hours bottle to throttle' thing, we can't have you suddenly getting the shakes when you're flying a shuttle." Elena nodded, "Second thing, Charlie, Mr. Adams' mapping drones have finished their first set of passes over the continent, we're going to start looking at sites for weather stations, and about two dozen agricultural stations, islands, and potential colony sites. He's gotten maps and charts from a damaged tugboat, and integrated those with the satellite scans into his maps." She looked up at Captain Senyavin, "These maps are four centimeter resolution, which should be good enough for now. We can get survey crews in later to go to the millimeter range if we need to. If you have someone that you can spare for a day or three, Pansy needs someone that would know the machinery on those two riverboats and the drydock."

"Elena, since you're dead heading to River tomorrow, could you touch base with Pansy about things like runways, that wrecked float plane in the hanger, and Charlie needs to know about things like landing pads and airstrips on some of these sites."

"I thought we'd use float planes," Elena said. "It's a water world, there are a lot of advantages to them. However, the floats do leak and the planes need more maintenance, because of the salt water corrosion. I'd check with the Canadians."

"I find myself in need of a good run," Gruber said. "Tomorrow morning, 07:00. I want to run past the Black's station as a psy-war tactic, they must be wondering where their people are."

"Wouldn't that just give Mattie into their hands?" Elena asked, worried.

"The local garrison only has five additional troops, plus their First Sargent and their Commander," Gruber said. "Besides, I have every faith that Ms. Wayne can kick arse like the others, if needed."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 8, 2002: 07:50 (GMT) (16 Quintus, 162: 7:37)  
Windfall, Island, coast road, Guard station:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Saare, Commander of the Guard post closest to those Source-dammed Terrans, looked up to see them running in a neat formation up the road toward East Port. They ran at a steady pace, and his people looked to watch as they sang something, clapping at certain points. In the lead, one held a small banner on a pole.

"What are they doing?" someone asked.

"Exercising," he replied, moving his mask aside to sip his tea, privately adding, '_Something we should be doing_.'. "If you notice, not only are they not masked, they're armed, all of them. Even the females." He watched the singing, clapping troops go by, then compared them to his own people. "The Source knows what they've done with our people."

"We can take them, not a problem," G'na, one of his more thickheaded people said casually. '_If you weren't related to Baasht, you'd be gone by now_,' he thought. '_Carefully now, she's got political leverage_...' he reminded himself. "They looked very fit," he said. "Source knows we've got people here that could lose a few kilos. Too much rich food," he added as a wary compliment, knowing G'na's relatives had the supply contract which consumed too much of his budget. He resolved to send G'na on the follow-up mission to the Terrans.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

An hour later, "Commander?" He looked up from his paperwork, and his First Leader stood at the door, shifting nervously from foot to foot. She swallowed, "Commander, the Terrans have returned, they offer a temporary truce. Their Queen wishes to speak to you."

"_Queen_?" He wondered again at the quality of his intelligence. "Wayne herself? Here? What kind of fool is she?"

"I do not think she is a fool, Commander. She offers truce, a chance to speak. I would suggest we take it, and not use it as a trap. They... Come see, Commander."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Source..." he whispered as he emerged from his office. Large armed Terrans stood around, alert, giving the appearance of highly trained competence. He turned, and his Blacks, tough girls all, lay face-down, hands bound behind them, ankles bound to the girls next to them, all with stiff white... cords. He did not recognize the material. He looked at his First Leader, who said, "G'na tried to start a fight, but all they have done is bind them. This is their Queen," and indicated a waiting female.

Wayne was young, the same height as other females, wearing a short green halter with silver edging and black shorts without a proper breath mask, and seemed to be unarmed, her legs and arms bare. Behind her, a tall, muscular male stood. He was not as bulky as some Terrans he'd seen, but was extremely fit. He also wore exercise clothing, although he had a compact weapon under his left arm.

She nodded politely, "Commander. I come under a flag of truce to speak to you. Hopefully, we can resolve this war before too many others die."

* * *

'_WAR_?' he thought frantically, but Wayne continued, "The Terran Empire ('_Empire_?!' his mind screamed), does not wish a war, we would prefer you join us peacefully and willingly. However, the Elder's orders seem to prevent this. I offer you a chance to visit our prisoners from your detachment, to speak to them, and then we will return you here, unmolested, in peace. Should you wish to speak to us, or we to you, display a white flag." She took a step to the side, gestured, and asked, "Do you have any questions, commander?"

"Your breath mask, why do you not wear one?" First demanded roughly. "Would you kill us all?"

"The plague has been over for seventy years," the large, armed man said. The bound girls stirred at that. He continued, "Our physicians, our Healers have determined this to be true. The Elders' insistence on this false truth is a trick used to keep your females deprived of political power, and to keep the Elders IN power. You know them better than we do," he concluded.

"Wait... my detachment?"

"The Blacks in High Town have not apparently received your report," the man said. "They tried to use the same head-breaking tactics against our people there. We have nine of them in interrogation now, they will be added to yours after they finish talking." He nodded at the bound girls, "Use a sharp knife, they are disposable plastic cuffs. Wear a white armband with your uniform, and we shall take you to see your females."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

He had paused, out of breath from his walk (their station's only vehicle gone with his four people), and two of the Terrans standing guard nodded politely, one asking, "Would you like some water? It looks like it will be another warm day."

"Thank you, that's very kind," and the guard took a few steps to a small blue chest, while the other used a personal comm. He fished one out, adding, "I like a bit of ice in mine, keeps it cold longer." He gestured, and the small chest, made of some strange material, radiated cold. He chose one at random, nodded politely, while the other said, "A slave is being sent."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

He was somewhat insulted that a mere slave had been sent, bound as if she represented a threat to him. She was a judicial slut with white-blonde hair, and was kept properly naked, as slaves should be. She whimpered when he tightened her cuffs, and when she was forced into leading position with his hand on her leash collar and in her hair. Still, he found their compound fascinating, taking his frustration out on her as she was only slave, strolling along, regaining his strength. At one point, she had cleared her throat, "Master, may I lead?"

He had used the leash chain on her for her impudence, and she politely directed him. He stopped, and she announced him, "My Lady Queen," she said, dropping to her knees and putting her head to the ground, "The Commander to see you."

"Return to your duties, slave," she said, and the girl got to her feet, backing away, then running off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Bloody bastard. Did he have to cuff me so bloody tight?" Frax complained, and Jamie Burnet chuckled as he released her cuffs. She knelt, "Thank you, master. How may I assist?"

"I think Hauptmann Gruber could use you at the collaring station with the new captures," Mistress Benni said. "Run along now."

"Yes, mistress."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Frax, isn't it?" the large German asked as she knelt in the sand. "These are captures that came in overnight from High Town. If you would work with the other three girls in stripping them and bringing them to be collared, I would appreciate it."

"Yes, master. Should they still be unconscious?"

"We're using a new weapon, a new shotgun shell. We catch them in a crossfire, three or four of these little darts, each with a tranquilizer, and they're out for thirty hours or so. The only real problem is fire, these were caught with wooden torches, so we need to make certain those are out. Treat them gently and they'll sleep their way into the POW camp."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, wonderful, I get the crazy slave," the girl said who she approached. She continued to strip the prisoner, "Toss her things in this box, she's number fifty-three." She took a marker and wrote '53' on the prisoner's chest, and again on the box. "Get her other arm."

"Where'd you get the blue collar?" Frax asked, picking up the prisoner's limp arm and dragging her through the sand toward the small building with the collaring station.

"Mistress Benni said she'd sell me if I crossed my wrists to Mistress Christine, who's now Planetary Governor," the other slave said. "It's a good deal for me. I'm enhanced, like you, so I'll always have that risk. Mistress arranged for one of the ship's computers to lock down my software, an AI she called Alfred. She's the only one that has my access code, it's in her safe. Also, I'll be released when my sentence is over, instead of a forever collar like yours, I'm trained in a useful task, and I'm paid. Ask Mistress Benni, see if she'll let you cross your wrists." They stopped, negotiating the doors, and she added, "I've heard you would cross your wrists to a sand-crawler to stay in a collar." Their prisoner continued to sleep deeply as she said, "This one is number fifty-three, master. Let's get her in position," and she went to the other side to get the unconscious girl in position for her collar.

They stood aside as number fifty-three was placed in a collar and belt, a leash ring was added to her neck with the requisite locking screws, and an orange tunic was wrapped into place. Sandals were added, and she was placed on a stretcher in the shade to wait for the flight as the two slaves went back for the next unconscious Black.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Excuse me, master, mistresses, I had a request," Frax said. Benni sat back down, the others resuming their seats. "We don't have all day, girl, spit it out," her owner said.

"Yes, mistress. I beg my sale to Mistress, excuse me, Governor Sullivan, mistress. I want a blue collar."

"Begging your sale is the action of a slave, not that of a free woman," Miss Wayne said. She stood, "I want to look you in the eye, and have Ashley Nicheyev say that to me." She tapped the table in front of her, "Stand there and look me in the eye," she repeated.

"Ashley Nicheyev is dead and buried," the platinum blonde said, as she hesitantly stood where she was told. Miss Wayne reached out, tipping up her chin, her green eyes intense. "Mistakes happen," she said softly as she looked into the collared girl's eyes. "I thought we had a deal, Ashley. You would allow me to try and fix my mistake."

"Perhaps later Ashley can be found alive," the girl replied, equally softly. "I hope she can be. For now, I... I can't explain it, but I _NEED_ this. I need to experience the collar, the brand, the chain, the sale. I don't know why, I just... I need to be just a collared female, to kneel at the end of my owner's leash. No pretense, no makeup to put on or take off, just another female." Her mouth twisted into a small, tight grin. "Maybe there's a best-seller in there."

"Eddie did say you've been keeping a log file in your implant," Miss Wayne said. The girl's eyes went wide, "I hope we find Ashley again. I quite liked her, I thought of her as a friend. What do I tell Ashley's other friends, like Liz Sterling, when I see her again?"

"Tell them..." The blonde's mouth twisted again. "Tell them that I decided to stay here a while, and I hope to see them again. You tried to get me to come, but..."

"Not the full truth," and Mattie shook her head. "No, I'll tell them what I know, and if they want to spend a holiday, or temporary duty here, you'll need to tell them yourself. You want this, decisions have consequences. You want to wear a government collar, be a government slave, you need to be honest with your owners and your temporary masters." She looked side to side, "Benni? Christine?" They shook their heads, as did Jamie Burnet. Mistress Wayne then stood, "Kneel in front of the table, slave, and repeat your request."

"Yes, mistress," the collared girl knelt, "Mistress Benni, this slave begs her sale to Governor Sullivan, so she may be punished for her crimes of burglary, theft of data, and theft of transport. She freely admits her guilt."

"The Captain involved declines to prosecute for the crime of theft of transport," Miss Wayne said. "Due to errors on the Captain's part, those charges are withdrawn."

"As the crimes of burglary and theft of data were done at the orders of the slave's master, there is no fault accruing to the slave. Those charges are also withdrawn," Christine said. "I find, as nominated Planetary Governor, this leaves the slave with no charges, and her judicial collar is invalid."

The collared girl blinked, "This slave remains slave?" she asked. Christine nodded, and the girl sighed. "Please forgive this slave, mistress," and she jumped up, taking a swing at Mattie, who blocked it. "Mistress, this slave is disobedient, talks too much, and is guilty of assault on a free person. This slave again begs her sale, mistress."

"Yes..." Benni said. She looked at the slave, "Girl, you have no name. I ask the price of one-tenth gram on this annoying criminal slave, number 94383," she said.

Christine fished one of the sample coins out of Mr. Burnet's bag, sliding it across the table. "Sold and accepted on behalf of the planetary government." Benni tapped the coin, then slid it back to Mr. Burnet as Christine turned to the slave, "You have been sold, slave, and are convicted of assault on a free person. The sentence is death by public torture."

The blonde slave shuddered, Mattie said, "As the victim of the attempted assault, I ask for clemency for the slave. She has admitted her crimes, and needs to be punished, but not executed."

"The Governor does owe her life to the slave, when she herself was slave," Christine said. "A life for a life. Slave, you are sentenced to twenty years in a judicial collar, and a year in a feeding gag to teach you the value of silence. Submit to your new owner."

The slave leaned forward, head down and between her crossed wrists. "Mistress, this slave 94383 submits to you as a full slave. Bind me, brand me, collar me, own me."

"On behalf of the planetary government, I accept ownership of the slave 94383," Christine said. She clasped the crossed wrists, then said, "Wait outside the collaring station, slave, and cuff yourself."

"Yes, mistress!" the girl said, springing to her feet. As the door closed behind her, Christine said, "When she asks for her freedom the second time, I'll grant it." She scribbled some notes, "Benni, would you take care of this for the slave?"

Benni accepted the note, studying it. "Maybe we should think about moving the collaring station."

"We picked up one on Tosul," Mattie said. "All the bells and whistles, along with a couple of med-tanks. We just have to decide where to install it, but we really do need to catch that flight."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Slave 94383, you have been convicted of attempted battery on a free person," as the girl crouched in the slaver device, the back of her hands, ankles and earlobes decorated with locked-on bells. A ring hung from her nasal septum, and her collar was encircled by the device. She whimpered, and Benni said from behind the controls, "As a convicted criminal, you now belong, and have submitted, to the Planetary Governor. In her generosity, she has decided to spare your life, and grant you a twenty-year collar for your crime. You have also confessed to speaking without permission, and have received the sentence of a one-year gag, to learn the value of silence." She checked the control board again, then pushed the button, and the machine hummed, ejecting the recollared slave, now with light blue and green lights on her collar, and security bands on her wrists and ankles. On her face, a metallic mask covered her jaw, held on by sub dermal hooks on her nasal cavity and jaw. She blinked up at the ceiling, lying on her back, her leash on the floor. Benni used it to pull her to her feet, releasing her hands and tossing a pale blue government slave tunic to her.

"To work, slave..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Wayne had paused, speaking to the pilots, then gestured to the rows of seats. "Any you please, Commander, although I would suggest a window seat. I asked the pilots to fly low and slow so you can get a good view." He shrugged and picked one. On the back of the seat ahead was a chart of diagrams, detailing the location of various items. The door closed with a hiss, around him people were clicking black straps together, so he did as well. Wayne took the seat ahead of him, humming a small tune to herself as the craft made various noises, and then... he looked out the window, and saw the last of the Island vanish beneath him, below only blue water. He saw the sails of a fishing boat flash by, and leaned forward, but it was already long gone. The ship turned, he saw the forbidden continent, a broad river of brownish water, and they were circling above a busy location, the buildings of a city passing beneath. "Where are we?" he asked. The ship made more noises, and started to settle to the ground. He heard a crunch of gravel, and a ping.

"We refer to it as Riverside," Wayne said. "I'll show you on a map. Twist the knob to the right and push it in to release your straps," she added, standing up.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Through here, please," the large, armed man said, and reached up to throw a switch. Through a heavy steel gate he could see two of his missing girls, wearing orange tunics with large black letters. They were collared and belted as female slaves, but their lights were orange and green, and they did not wear slave yellow. They saw him, T'asi standing, and L'ani emerging from a small shelter. The Terran said, "T'enno tried to escape, and was severely cut on the wire. She is in medical care, I will take you to her later. They have a female healer visit once a day, and are fed twice a day. Take your time, you may release their hands, we ask the courtesy of your re-cuffing them when you finish, just to the first notch, please. We do not wish to damage their hands." He gestured to a circular gate, "Push through, please."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

There was a buzz, and a light flashed on, the guard calling, "The slave barrier is back on," to him. He looked around, it was reasonably comfortable, there was an overhead shower arrangement, a device they could use to suction, and a water-drinking device. He faced his two girls, "What happened with T'enno?"

"She went mad, and started to climb the wire while bound as we are," L'ani said quietly. "I think she thought to escape."

"She was a fool," T'asi said. "You saw on the flight, we are far away from the Elders," and Saare noted the phrasing. He wished he could openly agree with her. "You are aware of being watched?"

"Of course. The Terrans reacted swiftly when T'enno went mad. In truth, our major complaint is boredom," L'ani said. "Is it possible for me to get my mouth-player and paper? For us to obtain art supplies and such, and mail?"

"Mail must go through the Council's post, I am told," and he raised his eyebrow. He removed his hat, and deliberately took two steps from it. "Unofficially, I am trying to work out something. I have no idea what Paavue is thinking..."

"If he is at all," T'asi said. "Perhaps a parcel through their delivery service?"

"You are officially not allowed to send or receive parcels," he replied. He rubbed his chin, "You are aware that girls from all over the Island have been captured, using the same tactics?"

"You are still not authorized to change them, or use your own judgment?" L'ani asked. "Why was this foolish thing started anyway?"

Saare shrugged. "I do not know. The Terrans I have met seem reasonable, although a bit odd in some customs. We shall work on the mail problem, and I will inquire about the music and art supplies. Did you have any questions?"

"We are in good health, our needs are met, and aside from boredom, we are as comfortable as could be expected," T'asi said. "The Terrans are planning a large vegetable garden, which we can work in, for pay, although we are cautioned that we will share the produce with the Terrans. You may officially replace your hat."

"I don't know how I could escape this place," Saare said, taking a last glance around. He sighed and replaced his hat.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Tuesday, July 9, 2002: 15:28 (GMT) (17 Quintus, 162: 09:15)  
Windfall, High Town, Security Ministry:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Elder Paavue entered his office, his slave following with his case. He grunted as the office slaves stood, bowing from the waist, and disappeared into his private sanctuary. The case slave deposited it in the usual place as the first pot of the morning's tea arrived, and he waved them out. With a tinkle of slave bells, they left, forced to balance on their toes as all his slaves were, softly closing the door behind them.

On the desk before him were the usual reports, seals up so he could verify their security. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a broken seal, but it was the result of orders he had placed many years ago, the last time he had faced a serious challenge. He turned to pour his first cup of tea, and studied the reports to the side, picking out one to read first. Saare, the fool in charge of the station nearest those Source-damned Terrans, had finally bothered to report. He took a sip, then sat down and broke the seal.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

_Most wise Elder..._

Paavue skipped the next two paragraphs of greetings. Why they couldn't simply get to the point...

_The action ordered by Council, reference #162-_

He knew what the order was, he had written the Source-damned thing...

_Unfortunately, due to mistakes made, we have lost one of the Council Guard's most skilled and courageous members. We were able to recover her body and perform a proper burial, however, in the process three more members of the Council Guard have fallen to the enemy. Their comrades are eager to avenge their capture and aid in their recovery from the enemy, but skillful intelligence has revealed that they are held captive in the Forbidden Lands. We seek guidance as to when a recovery mission will be mounted ..._

Paavue stopped reading and folded it closed. He initialed and dated it, placing it in the 'to be filed' slot. '_Rescue mission_?' he asked, and laughed to himself. '_I can move those funds somewhere else, as Saare has no further need to budget for four personnel_.' He took the next one up, breaking the seal on this report.

_Most wise Elder... _

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Tuesday, July 9, 2002: 15:30 (GMT) (17 Quintus, 162: 09:17)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, docking bay 4:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Aboard the daily shuttle flight, Christine poked her head in the flight deck, then stood aside as people took seats and the pilot closed and dogged the hatch. "I would like to thank everyone for coming, and Ms. Wayne for nominating me for Planetary Governor. We'll be taking a minor detour, there are some things we need to see from the air." She nodded to the pilot, who disappeared onto the flight deck as she took a jump seat.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Our first stop is the town of Riverside, and yes, that's now its formal name," Christine said, unbuckling and standing as the shuttle came to a hover. "If you look out the port side, you'll see two things. First, there are concrete footings in a kind of hollow box design that extend quite a way south of the actual island. The construction people have sent down divers and checked, they're quite sturdy, overbuilt actually. If you look up, you'll see the shuttle landing pads, which are extended out over the footings, supported by..." (she checked her notes) "... a cantilever arrangement of steel beams. These are corroded and are currently roped off as unsafe. What I will do is to replace these pads, supporting them with concrete arches and a white brick face to match the rest of the city. The western-most three pads are reserved for West Hospital, with nice big red crosses, and will each support a ship like the _McCoy_, with a fully loaded mass of about 2000 metric tons. They're circular, fifty meter diameters instead of the usual fifty-by-fifty meter squares. With a designed support of 3000 metric tons, that gives a thirty-three percent safety factor. East of those three pads, there are three clusters of four twenty-meter diameter shuttle pads, a 'lily pad' arrangement."

"The airport is on the western side of the mainland," someone said.

"Yes, along with the boat docks and such. The traffic control tower, terminal facilities and such are undergoing design for the transport ministry. We have the advantage of existing orbital sensors such as radar, which reduces our costs. As far as medical support, Dr. Wu and her people have been going over that. The hospital's central landing pad will be primary, east of that secondary, and west is tertiary. The reason for that arrangement is the main doors are centered on the central pad, number one, and the number three pad allows an ambulance a place to park and offload. This will give us both basic medical care and emergency services. The causeway will be widened and reinforced to support ambulance services. As we're planning on a sixty kilometer radius of coverage, this will be adequate."

"Running an ambulance, even a gal-tech one north and then south to the hospital is going to waste time," Mattie objected.

"There is a small aid station we're planning to support the gatehouse personnel further north. Cuts, broken bones and such are the injuries expected. We park an ambulance there, another one at the aerodrome. There's already a drawbridge over the river at the gatehouse location, we want to block the shonnen migrations."

"I thought we were to use the shonnen and the hexataurs as beasts of burden," Dr. Livingston said.

"We are, but only those broken to harness," Christine replied. "Right now, we're putting in container handling equipment here, at the Danube site, and we've bought land at the Island's West Port. We've also found barges we can adapt, and commissioned wagons that can be drawn by shonnen that the twenty and forty foot containers can latch on to, and we're rebuilding and strengthening bridges to handle the loads. They may not be as fast as a semi-truck, but they're here, and can handle heavy cargo like concrete block, steel, and thick timbers."

"And they pollute a lot less," Dr. Livingston said. "The dung can be used as fertilizer."

"Precisely. We've also modified a twenty-foot unit to hold a single shonnen if we need to ship them anywhere, and another to hold a team of four hexataurs in individual stalls, like a horse trailer. We're modifying a location to breed and break them to the north."

Christine changed the subject, "One more thing, we're going to modify the concrete footings for passenger and light cargo docks with wooden planking and such. The existing docks are mainland, and are designed for fueling and heavy cargo. This will support the agricultural stations, any daughter sites, and possible island resorts. We need to think about future tourism." Christine looked around the shuttle, then spoke to the pilots.

"What about the rest of the buildings on the south side?" Elena asked.

"We haven't quite decided. Some are already built as apartments, but there's also commercial space," Christine said. "I'd like to have some of it for schools, we will need to train, certify and license people. We do have the shuttle pads, I'm leaning toward having light commercial with freight elevators to warehouses from the piers, people could live over the shop. My concern is building up the economy and trade." She waved her hand, then leaned over to speak to the pilots.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"On the mainland side, this is primarily industrial and farm areas," Christine said as they grounded at the small airfield. "Where we are now is part of a seaplane base with a wrecked light craft, we're going to pack it up and ship it home, see if we can get it flyable and certified. If not, it will be interesting to study it, and I'd like to get my private pilot's license so I can use it and not have to steal a shuttle and pilots. There's a short landing strip, we're going to clean it up as it is, but any modifications planned will be approved by a proper government inspector from Transport Canada. They have the most experience with small harbors and airstrips for bush flying and remote communities. There are locks between the lake and the river, but they're only five meters wide. We want to be able to load barges, so we're going to modify them to twenty by seventy meter dimensions. The harbors and docks for each of the agricultural stations will be able to handle those barges too." She motioned to the pilot, who popped the hatch. "Tea and loo break at the construction camp, we'll be meeting in fifteen minutes at the Plans and Maps office."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Charlie!" He turned to see Mattie, and swept into a low bow, "My most honored and wise Queen, light of the stars, my Liege Lady Wayne..."

"Oh, shut up," she said with a grin as people chuckled. "Christine Sullivan, my nominated Planetary Governor, this is my friend Charlie Adams, he's the bright light behind the Plans and Mapping office."

Charlie smiled, "Mattie, Milady Governor, I'd like to introduce you to someone," and motioned forward a young slave girl with a bare hint of hair, wearing a judicial collar. "21928 here, or as I've taken to calling her, Nicole, heard about your visit, and mentioned a bloke we both know, Frank MacDonald."

"You know Master Frank, Mistress?"

"I went to school with him," Mattie replied. "Why don't you stay with us, and we can listen to Charlie and then we can talk a bit..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," Charlie began. "If someone would get the lights? Thank you. I'd like to start with what we know as the Danube site, properly known as Landing." He touched the laptop and the projected slide changed to an aerial map. "The original designers were fairly conservative," he began. "If you'll notice, Lake Landing, behind the dam, has two upstream supply rivers, both of which have weirs and spillways to maintain their own water supplies, that, plus snow melt means that the water level should not drop below the minimum of 30 meters required for power generation. The dam itself is 90 meters, and water level is currently 73 meters. We do plan to do some dredging and cleaning, but that will require specialized equipment." His finger traced a line, "There is a two-lane road across the top of the dam, and if you notice, a gravel road along here to an open-pit mine. This was a gravel mine, one of three we've found. It is flooded at the moment, on our 'to-do' list is to pump it dry, cleaning the water from any mining residues, and making that into a small harbor. We are thinking of possible tourism, but there are some fishermen who have caught some fairly large and tasty fish, so economic development."

"Thank you," Christine said.

"Our pleasure," he replied. "This is also the site of an inoperative radar and missile site. There are indications of an electric and data grid extending up to one hundred kilometers, which explains the overgrown road network," and he changed slides.

"The cables for power and data are buried under the road network, according to the electrical blokes, it was designed for further growth and expansion. The yellow circles are substations, which can boost or drop the transmitted power as needed. Quite a few are overgrown, getting those back on-line is also on the to-do list." On the screen, the road network was highlighted in a darker grey, with yellow circles every so often. Charlie changed the slide, going to an overview of the continent. "As I said, fairly conservative, the substations we've found also have microwave repeater towers along with the fiber-optic lines in the power cables, and there's also satellite dishes at the few substations we've examined. His finger traced one line, "This particular road goes down a full hundred klicks toward Riverside, if you notice the tan circles, those are microwave repeater towers that proceed further south, powered by wind generators. Those are places where we want to put some of the wildlife and weather stations, any beasties in the area would be used to the sounds of the equipment. We haven't looked at these other than from the air, though."

He changed slides, "We were able to pull information out of the mainframe, but it was a considerable job, and required the temporary conversion of one of the light shuttles to input/output. One of the things we asked the _Nevis_ to pick up at P'wheel was additional computer gear."

The slide changed again, "One thing we want to do is isolate the smelters and refining kit, as it is, they take a third of the dam's current output of ..." (he checked his notes) "... 264 MW. The electrical blokes say by doing this, we could extend electrical and data service out reasonably easily in a rural power scheme. By isolating the smelters and upgrading the generators in the dam, we increase capacity. However, this is the job for specialists, right now we just need to get what we can on-line. That upgrade is likely to be rather expensive," he warned. "Right now, we're just using Landing as a supply dump, in line with the decision to start with Riverside development."

Changing slides again, "The first rough, boots-on-the-ground survey of Landing's area found a town here, to the east. We didn't pick it up on orbital surveys because of the large amount of trees that have been left growing in the streets. The original Sandur settlers didn't clear-cut streets like we would have, they worked around them, so the roads twist a bit. Also, most of the buildings are wood frame and timber construction, that's where we got the design for the Governor's home and office complex we're building." Christine nodded, and Charlie cleared his throat and continued. "Most shops are at most three stories or fifteen meters high, with the trees fifty meters and higher, we thought this was just another overgrown orchard. It is our strong recommendation that we leave it be, just doing some branch-trimming and mowing." Changing the slides again, he gave them a short walk-through of the town.

Moving on, he changed to another slide, "Northeast of the town are the other two gravel pits, or rather one large pit I mentioned. Our recommendation is to treat the water as its pumped out, then it can be stored."

"What's inside the mountain?" Christine asked.

"Primarily their planet-side industry," Charlie said. "One of the things we'd like to do is to move the heavy, polluting industry up into orbit, leaving the lower-intensity industry here. For instance, their mineral extraction was done here, shipped down from orbit from mines in the belt, then shipped back up. Why they did this, we don't know. We're working on a plan for moving the fabricators and smelters, the heavy industry to orbit, and leaving things like electronics, fabricators and agricultural work down on the planet. This will build up a 'triangle trade' (he finger-quoted), like we have elsewhere, the Belters producing the raw ore, Orbit tran-shipping and producing things like steel, and the blokes on the ground growing fruit and veg, and meat and dairy, and producing things like electronic components. Low mass, high value."

"Going out to the local farms, and by the by, there is provision for a 'farmer's market' here in the main square, here, west of the town's High Street and before you get to the docks." His finger moved into the light, circling an area. "There are several radial avenues south of town, spreading out to where the first farms start, about a kilometer south and extending down for about thirty kilometers. Most of those fields are overgrown grassland now, we have encountered at least three predators, as well as herd animals like the hexataurs."

Changing slides, "The first one is what we're calling a bear. Two-twenty to two-fifty kilos, a dappled-brown to tan fur. We've only seen two, they seem to be omnivores, or not exclusively carnivores. Notice it is also four legs, like a Terran Brown Bear. It may be an imported beastie."

"The second one" (the slide changed again), "is a felinoid, six limbs, also woodland camouflage coats. This one seems to definitely be a carnivore, about one-twenty kilos, going by the teeth and claws. The only one we've seen dead was being munched on by several of the third, and we think the most dangerous predator..." (The slide changed.)

"... The wabbit!"

There was a pause, and then people laughed. Charlie raised an eyebrow, then put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. "People! This beastie is not a bloody joke! It's already killed one of us, and we're bloody lucky we haven't lost others!"

"What?! Who did it kill?" Mattie asked sharply.

"Dr. Fauxton, one of the WHO people," Charlie replied. People settled down, and he explained, "He thought he would examine one of the dead beasties. Apparently they have a postmortem reflex, and he went to pick it up from the tank it was in, wearing only some rubber gloves. The tail with the quills slapped him, and he dropped it back in the tank as he collapsed. It is a very fast-acting, lethal venom." He picked up some sealed tubes, passing them back. "These are the quills, notice they are rather short and hollow, the dark fluid inside is the poison. The wabbit is apparently immune, which would make sense. So far, tests show only one other beastie is immune, the shonnen. We think one reason is the thick skin they have, and tests show that a wabbit can only fire up to about a meter height. Most animals, including us, have the thinnest skin on their bellies and necks, which is the wabbit's prime target areas."

"So what do we do about them?" Christine asked.

"The wabbit may be the alpha predator, the range seems to be both grassland and woodland," Charlie replied. "Dr. Wu, before she left on the _Nevis_, was working on an anti-venin, and that's what Dr. Fauxton was working on with his people." He accepted the tubes of quills, "I'm one short here," and it was passed up.

"As you saw, the quills are thin, so for people going out where there might be wabbits, we're looking at some sort of lightweight armored clothing, like Kevlar jumpsuits and gloves. Leggings and belly protection for horses, cows, and hexataurs. For vehicles, aluminum plates should do fine, wabbits are about the size of a toy dog, like a Pekingese, three to six kilos, about fifteen to twenty centimeters. Right now, we're trying to get performance data on their quills, maximum range, the force they use, and so forth. They're ambush hunters, so we reduce the area they operate in. Once we sanitize a zone, we should be able to keep it out by doing things like mowing the grass and keeping it plowed and raked to either side of a road or path, and we can install an electrified wabbit fence if we need to. That might be best around a farm or town. We can also look at offering a bounty, 'X' amount on each wabbit head you bring in, although we'd need some way to safely decapitate them." He looked around, "Any questions about the Landing area? Right, moving on."

Changing slides, "The green circles are places where we're going to place the remote monitoring stations for both wildlife and weather. These will report in by satellite several times a day, once every two hours, and infrared motion detectors will record wildlife going for the watering points we set up..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What was that about government slaves, though? I'm not sure I like that," Arthur asked later.

Christine replied, "It's part of the criminal code. The government pays for both prosecution and defense, and a criminal can hire additional defense attorneys if they want. We're going to be operating at a deficit, at least at first. If we take the prisoners convicted of serious crimes like battery or burglary we can do some staffing at lower costs. Even if they don't have skills, they can be trained in something. As the Governor is the owner of record, we can keep an eye on them and make sure they're not abused like the Elders have, even if they're digging ditches. We can't let them go and we can't afford to keep them locked in a cell to rot."

Piotr grunted, "Take the example of the Blacks, a lot of them want to cross their wrists to us to cleanse their personal honor. We let them, and when they ask, we can free them. It's either that or kill them." He took a sip of tea, "For the criminals, those already in a judicial collar, I propose this. The local females average about 150cm in height, she is given a chance for freedom at a particular hair length. I believe hair grows about a centimeter a month. She is given the chance for their freedom when their hair fully touches the floor. Misbehavior will result in the cutting of hair, and thus an extension of their sentence."

"Hmm... Interesting concept," Christine said. "There are differences in height, and sentence length. We'd have to do virtual length, with some sort of correction factor. Still, that would give a visual indication of the length of sentence. A slave with a 160cm height and Windfall's eight month year, would have a twenty year sentence."

Arthur took a sip of his own tea. "Require a measurement once a year, when taxes and voting occur over the Landing Day and New Year's holiday." He gazed at the wall of the office, "Okay, we need to tax slaves, but also free them. In addition to changing the criminal code, you have a tax rebate depending on the number of slaves you own. That's going to give a somewhat accurate count, they're going to have to put down the slave's collar or registration numbers."

"You're going to get cheats, putting down false numbers, and zero taxation because of that credit," Piotr objected mildly.

Arthur nodded. "Precisely. This is 162, local year? Give them three years, then in 165, every five years, you do a census. Line 'em up and count 'em all in the yard, check them off the list. They're claiming ten slaves, and they only have three? They produce records on those seven slaves, because otherwise we'll jail 'em, fine 'em, or confiscate those three slaves. They're going to scream that they can't work their farm or whatever, tough. Pay the fine, get a collar themselves for tax fraud, or surrender title to the slaves."

"They would think they could simply buy new slaves... however, this reduces the amount of available slaves, driving up their price, and increasing the tax base." Piotr rubbed his chin, "Interesting... it becomes cheaper to hire free labor to get in the crops than it does to buy slaves to do it. However, I'm sure that someone would buy a bunch of slaves to rent out for harvest, and what about capital inmates?"

"The taxes on the slaves would eventually be more expensive than their rental, and the maintenance is an ongoing expense," Mr. Burnet said. "At which time the Governor could take them in lieu of taxes. She then becomes the legal owner, puts them into training, and they can then ask for their collars after training." He sipped his tea, "I would think some sort of indemnity on charges, it wouldn't do to have a former slave sue her previous owner for battery while she was slave."

He took another sip, "Regarding capital cases, they have three options: a collar and 'zero' length hair, or public execution by the noose or guillotine. Let people see criminals being punished, and if they pick a judicial collar they'll never get out of it." Arthur nodded as the banker continued, "In that type of situation, I think there would be very few capital cases. Murder, rape of a free person, espionage, corruption, treason. Put that in the planetary constitution so it would be difficult to change it like the Elders have done. I would, however, require decapitation for the crime of corruption."

"Why that particular one?" Christine asked.

"You put their heads up where they can be seen, and perform the ceremony in public. Have a sign, '_Convicted of corruption in the performance of their public duties_.' If I, as a citizen, attempt to bribe you, I am convicted of offering a bribe, a serious crime, but you, the public official who accepts it, betrays the public trust. We need to move the shadow economy, as much as possible, into the light. If the police officer or the tax assessor know that their heads may decorate a fencepost, they're going to think very carefully about taking that bribe."

"Put up a big sign at the ports," Arthur suggested. "'_Offering a bribe is a forty year collar. Accepting a bribe is a death sentence_,' and as far as minor crimes, like public drunkenness, put them in a bright pink smock and have them sweep the streets, up to a year's sentence." He finished his tea, "What about... whatever her name is now?"

"She's nameless at the moment," Christine replied. "She's also a trained electrical engineer. I'm going to put her to work on the power grid problem on the Island site. We do have a contract with the Elders for that, and the other sites seem to be working on 240 volts, 60 cycles. We need to know who's different from that standard, so she'll be doing a lot of walking."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 10, 2002: 18:43 (GMT) (18 Quintus, 162: 06:30)  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, slave cells:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The gagged slave 94383 woke with the others when her collar gave a brief jolt of pain. She knelt with the others, waiting for the cell to be unlocked and her day to begin.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Hans Gruber pulled up alongside the walking slave. She nodded at him, whimpered a greeting, and knelt. "Want a lift?" he asked. "You can be my driver if you can operate a stick shift." She whimpered, tossed her backpack into the back of the jeep, at the base of the pintle-mounted machine gun, and ran around to the left side as he moved over. She whimpered to herself as she got herself seated, pulling out a light blue government slave smock from her bag, folding it as a seat cushion. She whimpered again, pulling out a legal pad and pencil:

_This slave 94383 thanks you. Where to, master?_

"Not Frax?" She whimpered twice, emphatically, then stroked a finger across the number on her collar. "Ach. Well, we are setting up mail services for the three hundred or so prisoners we have, so I need to visit each of the Black's installations. The first one is our friends, a few klicks down the road. What has you walking down the road this fine morning?"

_Electrical survey, master. Each house and farm to see what they have._

"Well, as part of the deal, we will be delivering mail, so I suppose you could combine the jobs." He pointed west, "Walking is good exercise," and she whimpered in agreement.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

His driver braked to a stop, putting the parking brake on and killing the engine. Hans reached back to grab his own bag, telling the slave girl, "Stay with the jeep, I'll be back." She whimpered, getting out to stretch and stand, leaning against the back of the jeep and playing with her doubled-back leash chain.

One of the Blacks that had been lounging around strolled over to her, grabbing her chain at the collar ring. "You're not a very obedient slave, are you? Kneel!" and she punctuated the order with several blows from the chain, as well as kicks. Once the slave was down, she was roughly and painfully cuffed, her chain wrapped around the trailer hitch. One of the watching Blacks called, "Go, G'na, use their own weapons!"

Leaping into the back of the jeep, she tried to use the strange, long-barreled weapon, but could only make it click. The slave whimpered, trying to free her chain, G'na abandoned the (unloaded) machine gun, jumping down to kick and use her club on the helpless slave.

"What are you doing?" her commander roared, striding over to pull G'na off the slave. He somewhat remembered her, but she was only a slave. "Don't you know what truce means? You don't lift a hand to the Terrans, you don't try to use their weapons! Idiot!" Saare motioned to the others, "Take this foolish one, I want her back bloody when I return, or I'll collar all of you and sell you for a gram!"

"My slave was simply obeying my order to stay with the vehicle," Gruber objected. "I will handle any discipline she requires."

"She is slave, they are to be treated firmly, to remind them of their place," Saare said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Drive, slave, following his directions," Gruber said, and he opened the door to the passenger compartment, taking one of the seats himself.

"Slaves need reminding of their position, one reason you keep them properly naked, as I see you do," Saare replied, becoming accustomed to the sinful luxury of the seat. He was startled by the vehicle's acceleration, grabbing a steel bar and bracing himself. "I will tell you where to turn. Up ahead, to the left, do you see the three top-trees growing together? Turn left there."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, that went easily enough," Hans admitted, putting the outgoing letters in his leather satchel. "Where do we go next? East Port?" Saare nodded in agreement.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"There is an excellent restaurant I want to introduce you to," Saare said. "It is time for half-meal, the beer is fine, the slaves are more attractive than usual, and the food is even good. What else could you ask for?"

"Aside from a good sports event, not much," Hans agreed. "Stay with the vehicle, slave," and she whimpered.

"Ah, we have the slave fights," Saare said, taking a newspaper from a vendor without paying. As he strolled on, Gruber flipped him a coin, and the old man touched his cap. "If the one slave kills the other, it is counted as a forfeit, and the slave is given to the other side. Of course, one could simply line up a stable of cheap slaves to die, but the judges must agree it was a fair fight before the victory is awarded. It prevents much cheating."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ah, that was good," Saare said, getting up and strolling out, again without paying. Gruber tossed a few more coins on the table, probably not enough, but something toward the bill. "We should be getting on with business," he said.

"They are your slaves," Saare said dismissively. "They are only females, designed by the Source for a male's collar, to be bought and sold. Now or later, they are slaves. Let them wait."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I do not understand why you care about the slave," Saare said. "She is a female, and slave, she is beneath your notice."

Hans sighed, "The slave belongs to the System Governor," Gruber replied. "I signed her out and she is thus my responsibility. I must return her in good shape."

"I see," Saare said, nodding. "Very well, we shall return early. Turn right ahead, at the yellow-striped awning."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Up ahead should do, pull in there," he said, pulling into the roadside rest area. "Water and suction yourself, then wait for me here." She whimpered and moved off as he went into the male's area.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hands on your head, stand at attention. You are an inspected slave, in public," he said, as he strolled around the girl. "You have been reminded of your collar, and ..." (in a lower voice), "... the fact that you begged for it." In a louder voice, "Now that you have it, you will wear it, you will bring honor to your owner, Governor Sullivan. You are a full slave, and a nameless, insolent one at that. You are forbidden clothing," he told her casually. She whimpered once, and he motioned, "In the driver's seat, and remember where we go. You will be making this circuit later by yourself." He got in the passenger seat.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 10, 2002: 18:51 (GMT)  
In Orbit, **__M/V (A) Buckminster Fuller__**, flight deck:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Pansy turned from dealing with her paperwork, watching as Gisele studied a holo of the sole planetary space station. She tapped a keyboard, and floating modules added themselves, while others removed themselves. She locked her board, asking, "Michelle, Gisele, anything to drink?"

"No, thanks," the Second Officer said, looking in her insulated mug. "I'm good." She stretched in her chair, twisting her torso back and forth. "Gisele, what are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out how to add mining and extraction equipment to this miserable excuse for a space station," the blonde helms-woman replied. "Mr. Adams and Governor Sullivan want to get the orbital works going as quickly as possible, and since we're spacers and they're not..." She waved at the station on screen, it floated in roughly synchronous orbit with them, although a little lower and thus in a 'faster' orbit.

"It's a bloody piece of crap station," Pansy commented. "It's nice to be able to read the other side's mail." She grinned, "The original plan was to have it as a temporary station until they could go into more development of the belts. The fourth and fifth planets out each have ice moons, the original Sandur plan was to park a station out there to mine the water and ammonia ices, and as a supply dump for the outer belt miners. No, what I'd do is just leave that station as a general cargo station, and have a separate station in orbit for mineral separation and processing. Then we can have separate supply platforms for whatever we're building in orbit."

"That would mean having an initial shack for assembly of that station..."

"Yep, just like any job on planet. Do your plan, then work it. Start with a list of steps, starting with getting shuttles to and from dirtside, modules that you'll need, power, environmental, personnel..."

"Figure it both ways, with and without the existing stat..." Michelle started to say, when there was a visible cloud of gas and debris, and the antique cruiser separated from the station and started to tumble. "What the hell..." she asked, then slapped a button, "Captain to the bridge!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Firstday, 18 Quintus, 162: 09:56  
In Orbit, **__C/L Elder's Wisdom__**:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

With a groan and scream of stressed metal, the _Wisdom_ separated from the station, and Chief Engineer Toone looked up, from where he worked on a console. There was the ominous whistle of escaping air, and he said, "Out of the compartment, now!" He shoved everyone else ahead of him, then shouted "Shut up!" When he finally had quiet, he said, "Listen for the whistle of air. Paats, go get a portable welder, I want a sealing bead all around this hatch, then go check the others. I'm going to the flight deck and see what's going on."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"... received a message from the Terrans, sir," the comm officer was saying when Toone arrived. "They note we are leaking air and ask if we require assistance." The other two crewmen looked nervous.

"No reply, ignore them," Captain Meert said. "We have a mission for the Elders which must be completed on schedule. Helm, did you get the tumble corrected?"

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Good. Aim at the Terrans, we must fire precisely on time."

"What? What are you doing? Why are you firing at the Terrans?" Toone demanded.

"We are not to question the Elders' guidance, we need to fire and destroy the Terrans precisely on schedule," Meert replied primly. "Ready on all missiles, Weapons."

"Powering up targeting radar..."

"NO! We must not give them warning, this was clearly stated by the Elder's order!" Toone looked at him, amazed as the Captain continued, "Point the ship at the Terrans and fire all four missiles when I give the command. Are you a female? This should be simple, do it!"

"Sir, missile one is not present. Missile two reports partial functionality. Missiles three and four read as present but non-functional."

"We are losing time! Ready missile two..."

"Sir, the Terrans again ask if we require assistance."

"I told you to ignore them!" Meert looked at the timer, "Fire missile two! Fire! Fire!"

"Missile two away," the weapons operator said dully, and made the sign of the Source. "I commend myself to the Source," he whispered, and Toone stepped over to look at his board. "You fool! We don't even have shields up?"

"Raising them would have warned the Terrans," Meert said, sweat on his brow. "Raise the shields and maneuver to avoid the Terrans."

"Missile has missed the Terrans, and is drifting. Terrans have shields and weapons up, they have captured the missile with a tractor. Terrans are maneuvering, they have locked us with their targeting systems. Shields up, power fluctuating between thirty and thirty-seven percent. With their power readings, they can either batter our shields down or just wait until we run out of power." Weapons turned, adding simply, "We live now because they permit us to."

"Terrans are now demanding to speak to you," the comm operator said.

Meert replied, "Ignore the Terrans. Message to the Elders, attention Elder Paavue. '_Single missile fired at Terran starship on schedule, they are not destroyed. They are maneuvering to engage us_..." an intense red beam crossed their course, "... _and have fired on us. Boarding and capture of the Terran ship unlikely_." (Toone snorted in agreement.) "_Request instructions. Meert, commanding_." He turned to the comm, "Send it," and then looked at Toone, "Why aren't my weapons ready? You're the Engineer, you're supposed to have this ship in top condition at all times!"

"I would be able to if I had the Source-damned parts!" Toone shouted back. "Your weapons don't work because I had to strip parts from them in order to fix other things like life support! This ship is held together with wire and tape! Why in the Source's name did you fire at the Terrans?"

"We had orders to undock, fire on and capture the Terran ships," Meert said. "Only one is in orbit now, the others will need to be seized by the Blacks on the ground. I have no doubt they will do the job, just as we must do ours. I reported us as fully capable, and now you're telling me we're not?"

"I have been telling you we needed parts for the last five years, ever since you took command of this box of spare parts! You don't read my reports, otherwise you would know that!"

"Of course I do..."

"Then what was the summary paragraph of last week's?"

Meert waved that off, "How should I know? I'm a busy man..."

"Why don't you pull it open right now and look? I could use a laugh before dying," Toone said.

"Terrans still insisting on speaking with you," comm said. "They say their last shot was a warning, you now have sixty seconds to reply before they fire..." he swallowed, "... they fire to... to... "

Meert ignored that, having pulled open last week's engineering report, "... and if you contact me with the phrase 'I want the slaves', I'll buy you a matched set of red-headed slaves from the Terrans." He looked up at the Engineer, "I want them, I want the slaves!"

"You fool! We have less than a minute to live! Who cares about the slaves, talk to the Terrans!"

"We are not to communicate..."

The Engineer swung at the Captain, pulling him out of the center chair, and holding a tool at his throat. "I'm declaring myself in command! Who wants to live? Contact the Terrans, agree to what they want!" The forward screen came alive with a perfectly groomed male sitting in their ship's center seat, "This is Captain Komatsu. I'm glad to see you finally answered." He took a sip from a cup, then set it down.

"I'm Engineer Toone," he replied. "This fool," and he shook Meert, "... was on Council orders to fire on you and then board and seize your vessel."

"You are aware that you are leaking air rather badly," Komatsu replied. "We estimate you only have another two hours remaining."

"Yes, when we undocked, it popped rivets all over the ship," Toone agreed. "I surrender the ship..." Meert struggled, and Toone knocked him unconscious. "... as I was saying, I surrender the ship with the condition you evacuate us."

"I will accept that with the following conditions," Komatsu said. "First, all computers and ship's systems will remain on, functional, and accessible. There will be no deletion of any data whatsoever. Secondly, all personnel, including..." he leaned forward, "... all slaves will be evacuated. In searching the ship later, the condition of any slaves found will be matched by command personnel. Lastly, you are regarded as prisoners of war, and will be shipped down and into our POW camp, where you will join the Council Guard as our prisoners."

"The Guard?"

"We have several hundred of the Guard as our prisoners," Komatsu said, and leaned back, picking up his cup again. "I would prefer that all your slaves would be at the front of the line for evacuation, then enlisted personnel, then officers. Basic uniform and shoes, no weapons, or anything that can be taken as a weapon. We'll take you off by shuttle from the two forward hatches, to the station, then down." Toone nodded, "Agreed, Captain."

"Excellent. You start on your side," and he turned, "Communications, inform the Major we'll need some of his troops for a boarding party. Combat suits, zero pressure." He turned back, "Set for remote command, please. What is your over-ride code?"

Toone looked at the comm rating. "152849," the rating managed to get out.

"We have access and command control," a female's voice said off-screen, as the ship quivered. Komatsu took a sip from his cup, then raised it, and the screen went black.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Wednesday, July 10, 2002: 19:30 (GMT) (18 Quintus, 162: 07:17)  
Windfall, High Town, Ministry of Trade:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Elder Baasht walked into his outer office, cursing a bit at the unusually late-morning rain shower. It had delayed him a minute or so, one of his slaves hurried over with towels to dry him off. He let her, then shook her off, "Bring me tea, girl, nice and hot and plenty of it," and stormed into his office, slamming the door. That was unusual for him, he was usually not this surly in the morning. He strode over to his desk, shoving at his high-backed chair, and then stopped. There was someone in it.

"Good morning, Elder," the young female said in accented Trade. "Nasty rainshower this morning wasn't it?"

"Who are you and what are you doing in my chair? Get out of it!"

"I thought we'd have a short conversation first. By the way, the slaves in the outer office won't be able to open the door, or hear you shout until we allow it." She gestured at one of the other chairs, the other guest chair was occupied by a rather short male with pointed ears. "Won't you have a seat, please?"

He put his case down next to it, eying her warily as he took the seat. "I still want to know who you are."

"My name is Wayne, and this is my good friend and banker, Jamie Burnet." She regarded him, "Doesn't strike a bell?"

"Should it?" he grumbled.

"Terran Empire? The one you're currently at war with?"

"War? By the Source, what are you talking about?" Baasht shouted.

"Well, that proves an interesting theory," the male, Burnet said. "Elder Paavue sent out an 'arrest and question, then dispose' order to his Blacks. He tried to kidnap our Queen here, and her Crown Consort, torture, then murder them, apparently believing we would simply accept this."

"Queen? Paavue has us in a war with an interstellar empire? What madness is this?" Baasht shouted. "I did not vote to authorize it!"

"Well, in that case, we will advance an offer to you," Burnet said. "Sell out to us, take your boat, the _Maanat_, and sail off to your island escape."

"Two conditions," Wayne added. "One, no slaves go with you. They are part of the buyout, which includes the Ministry, your farms, everything." Baasht eyed her as she continued, "Second, we hear of your talking to anyone else about this, slaves, staffers, the other Elders, anyone, the deal is off, and you'll wind up with your back against a wall next to Paavue."

"We _WILL_ hear, Elder," Burnet said. "Today's the eighteenth of Quintus. We'll be in touch again on the twentieth." He extracted a bundle of papers from his jacket as Wayne finally got out of his chair. "That, according to our research, is the total value of your holdings as of the close of yesterday's business." They moved to the rear of his office, into the shadows, and vanished from sight as a rapid series of knocks came from his outer office. "Elder! Elder! We could not open the door! Are you well?"

"I will be when you get my Source-damned tea in here!" he roared.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Hans Gruber tried not to show surprise as Frau Wayne and Herr Burnet walked through the white-washed stone wall. "It went well?" He asked from where he waited in the access corridor. It was still somewhat difficult for him to believe that the young woman was an authentic witch.

"We gave him something to think about," Herr Burnet agreed as they moved down the deserted corridor. Frau Wayne stopped at the stairwell, looked around, then slid down the wooden handrail, flipping herself off and down into a gymnast's landing. "Ta-Da!" she said, then grinned sheepishly and dusted off the seat of her black jumpsuit. "I never really got the chance to just be a kid," she admitted.

Hans also looked around, then slid down the railing sidesaddle, jumping off just before the end. "I could never do that landing," he confessed.

"Hem, hem," Herr Burnet said as he sat cross-legged in midair, floating with great dignity down the stairs to join them. "The proper image must be maintained."

"You can almost see him sipping tea while he does that," Hans said. Frau Wayne nodded, "With a proper English brolly and bowler hat," she agreed, starting down the next set of stairs.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I am a little concerned about your not carrying a proper weapon," Hans said as they reached the ground level.

"I am visibly armed with a sword, I don't need a gun," Frau Wayne said. "It's not just any sword, it's made by a wizarding sword smith in Kyoto. Observe, please." She drew it, then proceeded to cut chunks out of the brick stairs, and the steel handrail. She held it carefully out to him, and he examined the blade, it gleamed, perfect in the low light. She sheathed it, "It will cut through concrete, brick and steel without effort," and gestured to the hacked-up staircase.

"We are on a low-observable mission," Herr Burnet said, waving his hand and repairing the staircase. He waved again at the door, which opened for them. "My lady? Sir?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"And now?"

"We bug the other four Ministry meeting rooms," Frau Wayne said as they slipped down a poorly lit alleyway. "We have to assume they'll move, and then the workday should be over, and we can bug the Minister's offices, like we did Baasht's."

"He will be thinking about this offer all day," Herr Burnet said. "One Euro he decides to accept the offer."

"I would think he would want more than the value, and in tungsten metal," Hans said.

"If he does, he does. We'll negotiate him down, he'll expect that, and it's not like he can _eat_ the tungsten," Frau Wayne said. She looked around, then extracted a wand from somewhere and waved it at an innocuous door. It popped open with a squeal, and she pointed the wand at the hinges. "The Ministry of Information, gentlemen."

"That much tungsten would capsize his boat," Herr Burnet said, accepting Hans' gesture to precede him. "Thank you, sir."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***_**  
Saturday, July 13, 2002: 18:13 (GMT) (20 Quintus, 162: 18:00)  
Windfall, High Town, Ministry of Trade:**_  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I was wondering when you'd appear," Baasht said sourly. "I had some questions, how you arrived at some of the values."

"The values are commodity spot prices as of three days ago posted by Lantern Bank for the galactic exchanges," Mr. Burnet said. "They are in grams of .999 fine Tungsten, we have also computed them as Iron, as a courtesy."

"Iron is so much less, though."

"That is what you have based your economy on," Miss Wayne replied, setting down her case and extracting her own copy. "The slaves are measured against the 'standard bred slave', and her selling price of one thousand grams. Those off-planet slaves we know of, even though they may be of individual, variable quality against the standard, are calculated as a standard bred slave. The locally born slaves are computed as one-fifth of the standard."

"I disagree," Baasht said sourly. "My slave breeding operations are of the finest quality."

"You enforce both the nipple chains and the hobbles," Mr. Burnet said. "Those alone require extensive medical intervention before the slave is able to serve as either a wet-nurse or to simply walk normally. In addition, the leather masks require dental work to repair on each slave. This is something we plan to correct, but it still is a deficiency that needs adjusting."

"Not to the extent of eighty percent!" Baasht complained. "I will accept no more than ten percent!"

"On the contrary, each slave requires several hours in a med-tank for these and other repairs, in order to get them into salable condition. We have computed the average time at four hours per slave..."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I do believe we have an agreement," Mr. Burnet said, several hours later. "Two final questions, in what form of payment, and where to deliver it?"

"Tungsten, delivered to the _Maanat_ by fifthday, the twenty-second. I'll deliver the final access codes then."

"We can do the delivery now," Ms. Wayne said. "We'll even load it on board for you. I want to start getting those slaves repaired, it will be a long process before they're all salable." She made a note of the final amounts and initialed it, passing the pen to Baasht. He inspected the agreement one last time, then signed it himself, passing the pen to Mr. Burnet.

Mattie opened her comm, "Hans? We have an agreement, delivery on board the _Maanat_. Right... Thanks," and she accepted her pen back.

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"... 2247, 2248, 2249. It is all here." Baasht signed the receipt for the tungsten, stacked neatly on the aft deck of his boat. He didn't seem to notice that the boat sat alarmingly low in the water. He clambered up the ladder, handing over the master keys, the titles to his properties, and a letter transferring ownership to Mr. Burnet. He re-boarded the boat, caressing the stack of metal, then turned, and the Terrans were gone.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
_**Monday, July 15, 2002: 00:02 (GMT) (21 Quintus, 162: 17:49)  
Windfall, High Town, High Street:  
**_***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Where's Arthur?" Mattie asked, looking around the market street.

Elena turned to look. "Oh, there he is, in the tea shop next to our big TV. He's talking with Herr Gruber about something. Why don't we go ahead, he'll catch up. Besides, guys don't have any appreciation for the fine art and science of shopping," she grinned.

"True, this is," Mattie agreed. "Well, if we're going to buy toys for his prisoners, we'd best be about it." She turned, "Let's try this general store. There's no reason to go to a specialty shop if this will do."

"True, this is, budget we have," Elena agreed in the same 'Yoda-esque' style. "Begin, we shall."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good afternoon," Elena said to the merchant behind the counter. She waved a list, "We've got a bunch of stuff to buy, can we borrow a couple of your girls?"

"Certainly," Fooyn replied, waving a couple of his slaves toward the Terrans. They were easily recognizable, for their lack of proper masks, their clothing, and their height. Still, they paid in tungsten, and business was business, despite what second-father said about them.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Painting sets, next..." Mattie said to the general store's slave. "We want quality, not the cheapest thing, now."

"Yes, mistress," the cloth-masked slave said. "Over here, please..." Mattie followed her, glancing over to where Elena worked through her own list. She was glad her sister-in-law was here, it helped her therapy to do something as normal as shopping. Two additional slaves followed each of them, primarily to help carry, but they were surprised and pleased when Mattie had asked their opinions.

The bell over the door rang, and shortly Mattie overheard the shop's owner saying, "No, I haven't seen the Terrans lately. Perhaps a different shop?" The three slaves looked at each other, wide-eyed, then one whispered, "With me, mistress, you can hide in the back."

Elena caught Mattie's eye, jerking her head. Mattie pressed the list on one of the other two, "Remember, quality. I'll be back."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Someplace with an exterior wall," Mattie told the slave. "Not the back door, they'll be watching that. Point it out, then leave us and return to the lists."

"And thank you," Elena said.

"Our pleasure, mistress," the slave said with a shy smile. She looked around, "The storage area above us, mistress. The ladder is there, and is next to the rear wall..."

"That will do," Mattie said. "Go back out front, now, and if asked, you showed us where to suction."

"Yes, mistress," the slave said, and scampered off. "Suction?" Elena asked.

"Yeah," Wayne replied, looking around. "I didn't want to explain 'bathroom'." She gestured, "Up the ladder and hide, quick. They're doing a search."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie had flicked her wand a few times, whispering some things, then crouched next to her, hand firmly on Elena's mouth as the searching Council Guard climbed the wooden ladder, peeking over the edge, then climbing up to walk around, poking in the various areas large enough to hide someone. She turned, her booted foot on Elena's fingers as one of the other Blacks called, "Find them?"

"No," the masked Guard replied. "A lot of crap up here, but no Terrans." She lifted and shifted some other things, still with her left boot on Elena's outstretched fingers, then said, "Source take them, they're not here. That bastard Keeht was wrong."

"Well, let's report in." The Guard left, climbing down the ladder.

Mattie keeping her hand firmly on Elena's mouth, then removed it, pointing her wand at Elena's hand, and whispering another spell. "Keep your voice down. Painkilling spell, how's your hand?"

Elena exercised it, "Not bad, thanks. How in the hell did she _not_ see us when she was standing on my goddamn hand?"

"She saw us, our cover wasn't _that_ good, but she dismissed us. I can't do an invisibility spell, Arthur can, but I can do a disambiguation spell, renders us unimportant. But she could have heard us, which is why I was keeping you quiet. I also have a perimeter spell going, which lets me know where people are within about fifteen meters. For instance, there's one of the slaves coming back to check on us." She low-crawled over to the suddenly creaking ladder, poking her head over and whispering to the girl, who said, "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, we were worried." The creaking of the ladder resumed as she left, and Mattie rolled over, looking around, then up as she crouched and walked back to Elena.

"Step two," she said quietly. "They've got three guards on the roof, one is there," and she shot sparks at the underside, about five feet away from the trap door. "The other two are there (more sparks), presumably top cover over the back door, and maybe a ladder, and at the front of the store." She commented, "Good placement, someone on the other side is actually thinking for a change." She looked around, "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going up the ladder and through the trap door..."

"_Through_ it?"

"Phasing spell. I'll teach it to Arthur later, it's a Slytherin spell. I'll take out the three guards, then open the trap for you. While I'm doing that, give Gruber a quick call with a sitrep, and keep it quiet."

"Got it," and Mattie vanished from sight.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The wooden trap door silently opened (more spells, Elena presumed), and she hurriedly re-donned her sunglasses. She emerged onto the roof, keeping low at Mattie's gesture, and saw three naked and bound women sleeping on the graveled roof. To her left, she saw the top of a wooden ladder over the low brick wall. Looking around, she moved over to the shadow of some unknown rooftop equipment, drawing and checking her shoulder-holstered sidearm as quietly as she could.

"Easy there..." Mattie said quietly. She crouched down, "Good call, find some cover." She touched her comm, "Hans? Mattie. Elena and I are here on the roof of the general store. We're under cover, we're both good, and we've taken out the three roof guards. They're naked, bound, and sleeping." She nodded, "Yes, they're finally showing some tactical initiative. They've got a couple dozen Blacks in the street for the snatch job, if we can bring Otto the sniper about three buildings west, the ones on guard in the back alley shouldn't see him." She nodded, "I agree, we can clean house. There's only about thirty or forty left, including these." She nodded again, "Okay. We're going to see if we can't suck all of them out of the Ministry. What do you want us to do?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Elena stood watch and listened to a stolen Guard comm unit (the first they had seen them use) as Mattie levitated Otto the sniper, his bags of equipment, and the eighteen kilo Barrett sniper rifle to the roof. They waited until he gave a 'thumbs up', sighting on the Guard's repeating crossbow, which was aimed at the general store's door. He pointed at Elena, who gave a short screech, "The Terrans! They're here! They're going to..." at which point someone fired a short burst from an MP7 into the air, a couple pistol shots sounded, and Otto fired his Barrett, which blew up the wood and metal crossbow. The Guard was knocked down from the concussion, bloody from the splinters, as organized chaos began.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Hans smiled to himself, so far the hastily planned Operation Vacuum was going well. He stood next to the command APC, listening as Frau Morton imitated several different Guardswomen on the enemy frequency. '_The fog of war_,' he thought to himself.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We have them on the run, Elder," one of the Guard said, and Paavue grunted. "Good. I want to see Wayne's capture and execution myself. I'm going there."

"Elder, it could be dangerous..."

"Nonsense, I'll have my personal guard, and we'll take the rest of the Guard with us. It will do them good to see my victory; our enemies crushed and kneeling at our feet, Wayne as my slave. It's only a few kilometers down the street. Do it!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What an ego," Elena said into the Terran comm. "According to our captured comm, Paavue is personally going to witness your defeat and Wayne's crossing her wrists to him, he's stripping every Council Guard from every ministry to do it. Taaman from the Ministry of Justice is coming to watch, they expect to have Mattie on her knees before sunset."

"We'll just have to disappoint him," Mattie said quietly as she watched the Blacks in the alley below, diligently looking in every place in the alley that might hold a person. The fact that she watched them from the roof added to her belief that people never looked _up_, as she was not cloaked at the moment by any sort of spell. "Ready for phase 'Frightened Rabbit', and no, I am not wearing a bunny costume, whoever suggested that." Elena smirked from where she stood comm watch and guard over Otto, then waved as Mattie moved to the next building. She leaned over the edge of the roof and whistled sharply. The search team looked up and around, startled, and she smiled and waved at them, calling, "Looking for me?"

"It's Wayne! Get her!" the squad leader shouted, and Mattie gave another cheerful wave and vanished from their sight as they searched for a way up.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Keeht grumbled to himself, his search operation had been going well, Wayne had been seen traveling roughly eastward, and various searchers had confirmed sightings. Both Paavue and Taaman had then shown up, and had gathered his reserves in as a personal bodyguard. The two Elders stood glaring at the Terrans, who had several large armed vehicles. They had spread across the road, blocking the view westward. He approached Paavue, "Elder, I have Wayne on the run, but I need additional personnel to tie the net. If you release these Guards to my command, I will have Wayne in front of you today."

"You guarantee this?"

"There is no place for her to run, Elder. She is attempting to move east, I assume to attack the Ministry. We will hold the net open, and then sew it shut behind her."

Paavue grunted, "She should use her troops better, they are disposable, not she." He waved, "I want her in front of me today!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Saare grumbled to himself, he, his First, as well as the commanders of all the other decimated Guard posts had been summoned to High Town to be lectured by Paavue. Now, with the others, he chased Wayne all over the town, to the accompaniment of loud bangs and other noises. He almost ran directly into some of the others, only to see...

"Hello," Arthur said, then jerked the end of his shotgun up. "Hands up, please, on your heads," he added. "You are prisoners. Behave and live. Turn left at the end of this alley, please."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hans, how are we doing?" Mattie whispered into her comm, taking shelter behind a brick wall.

"Can you see the street?"

"Yeah. Flamethrower girl, two more with Paavue are all I see."

"All that's left. Otto has the flamethrower girl in his sights, we can take her out without problems."

"That would be a hideous death. Can we talk her into disarming?"

"She seems to like playing with it. If you want to, but the instant he sees something he doesn't like, he fires."

"There's also the general fire risk to structures. I'm willing to try, though. Otto, you heard?"

"Ja. Easy shot to the brain stem from two hundred meters, she doesn't move that much. No idea what the fuel is, though. Someone would need to turn off the valves, Frau Wayne. Can you cast a spell?"

"I need to be closer, five or ten meters to do so." The radio was silent, "I'm going to try to talk her out, and stay to the south. Arthur, you heard?"

"Yeah. If you can distract her, I can approach under cover and stun her, then turn off the valves. We can keep Herr Otto as backup, just in case. Good luck." Her radio clicked twice in acknowledgment.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie took a deep breath, then appeared, walking toward the four locals. Paavue cackled, "Keeht was right! Where is he?" Wayne ignored him, her naked sword in her left hand, stopping about five meters from the girl wearing the flamethrower pack. She regarded the girl, "What's your name?"

"What do you care?" she snapped back.

"I'm asking to see if you want to live to see tomorrow's sunrise. If you do, take off the pack and step away from it. Otherwise, you're going to die a horrible death within the next few minutes."

The girl licked her lips, she wore the standard Guard uniform of black shorts, low boots and a black halter top. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Right now, you're targeted by our sniper. I can see the laser sight mark on your upper lip." She tapped her own face, "If you do something he doesn't like, he pulls the trigger, and a tenth of a second later, you're dead." Taaman regarded her, and started to move away as Wayne continued, "When you collapse, you might burn down all these buildings, and there won't be enough of your body left to bury. All there will be is ashes, like a cooking fire, that's all that will be left of you."

"The Elders... Second father Paavue trusts me to..."

"... to die for him? Let Paavue worry about himself. You worry about you. He's old, you're young, do you have a male? Family? Parents, brothers, sisters?" Wouldn't you like to see them tomorrow?"

"I..." she was clearly wavering, but she still played with the trigger, and it was still aimed at Mattie.

"All you have to do is take the pack off, put it on the ground, and take two steps forward. That's all. Put it down and step away from it. Step away from it, and you live, my word on it, you can live, see your family, your sisters..." Wayne's voice was soft and hypnotic as the Guard's hand went to her belt buckle.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Paavue screeched, and at that, the mood was broken, her weapon came up to fire, Mattie dove to the side as there was a wet 'thud', and with a surprised look, she collapsed to the cobblestones.

"PAAVUE!" Wayne shouted, coming to her feet and charging as spells shot out, catching Taaman and his guards, her blade flicking sideways to disarm another bodyguard who pointed a small handgun at Arthur, who was crouching over the flamethrower, neutralizing it. The Guard screamed, her hand with the gun flying off to the side as she collapsed in shock. Another bodyguard spun, her gun coming up, pointing at Wayne, whose blade was at her throat. Arthur arrived, panting a bit, his shotgun aimed at Paavue.

"We have a problem, it seems," Paavue said with a reedy chuckle. "Keeht was right, he did deliver you to me, Wayne. You may kneel and submit now, we don't have to wait for him. Where is he?"

"You're delusional, and he's been captured," Arthur replied. "You and this girl are all that's left of the Council Guard. The other three hundred seventy are our prisoners, along with the crew of the _Elder's Wisdom_."

"You are so severely over matched it's not funny, Paavue," Wayne added. "We not only hold both star systems, we hold the orbitals, the airspace, and the ground. You have a single Guard with a handgun. Surrender and you can both live."

"You killed my flamethrower!"

"She would have lived if you hadn't interrupted," Mattie said. "Her death is your fault. At least it was quick, and we'll give medical attention to the other girl."

The Guard licked her lips, "Elder Paavue, perhaps we should..."

"Source take it, I'm not surrendering to these..."

"You seem like someone with common sense," Mattie told the Guard. "This sword can easily cut your head off. You don't have to do what Paavue says any more, if you want to live, point the gun at the ground, then drop it there." The Guard licked her lips, then pointed the gun at the ground, tossing it a foot or so away. Paavue started to say something, but Arthur flicked his shotgun at him as Mattie backed off on the sword at her throat. "Excellent. Hands on your head, now, and slowly kneel." Mattie shifted to the side as the Guard did so, one hand going down for a second to brace herself. "Good. Lie down, please, and hands on the back of your head. Elder Paavue, you saw how easily that's done, take three steps to your right and do what she did."

"I'm an Elder, I'm not surrendering like some _female_!" he said contemptuously.

"As you wish," Arthur said from behind Paavue, adding "Stupefy!", and he dropped to the cobblestoned street.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, that was fun, and I got to do sneaky," Arthur said with a grin. "Maybe not as well as you can. Check her pistol."

"No clip, and..." she pointed it up and fired, "none in the chamber." She moved to the unconscious Paavue, cleaning her sword on his pants and sheathing it. "What about the flamethrower girl?"

"I couldn't stun her, she was still playing with the trigger, and pointing at you," he replied. "Sorry."

"Damn," she sighed. "I was hoping..."

"Still, only two fatalities is pretty good," he commented. Mattie nodded, and leaned over to tap the still-prone Guard. "You can sit up and relax now," and helped her to do so. "Take off your belt and give it to me, please. Why didn't you load your gun?"

"I forgot, Mistress," the Black replied. "The only training I've had on it was a few minutes several years ago; I don't usually carry it. Am I your slave, now?"

"No, a prisoner. Considerable difference," Arthur said, offering a hand up. "What's your name?"

"T'ela, master, until I receive my slave name."

"I have a sister with a similar name," he replied, pulling her up. "Can you help me carry Paavue over to the POW truck, Mattie has shopping to finish."

* * *

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


	4. 16 31 July, 2002

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
4: 16 - 31 July, 2002  
Tuesday, July 16, 2002:  
Terran system, **_Olentangy_**, common room: 17:23 (GMT)****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Bill Morton leaned back in his chair and re-read the email his wife had forwarded from Elena. The trip had changed his daughter somehow; her sense of humor was now more dry and earthy. He was tempted to send a note to his son Arthur, but he had a habit of not replying to email, of keeping his cards close to his vest. Shaking his head, he started his reply:

_To: Maggie  
From: Bill Morton, Sr.  
Date: 16 July, 2002  
Subject: Various_

_Hi, honey! _

_I got your email of the 15th, where you passed on news from the kids. As for us, we're still here orbiting Uranus, the retrieval of hydrogen and helium is going a little bit slower than we anticipated, but everything is going fairly smoothly. Assuming the price-point holds for deuterium and 3He, we stand to make a tidy profit on this trip. We're about 40 percent loaded, all systems are go. Right now, the other three are on the flight deck, while I, the wise, all-powerful captain, sits and writes his wife. Rank Hath Its Privileges. _

_Lest you think there is nothing to do, Mike needs to maintain a perfectly synchronous orbit. I know satellites do so routinely, but there are apparently some gravitational fluctuations, although not nearly as bad as the Moon's. Misty remotely operates the gondola, pumps, and whatnot on the atmospheric unit, while Hank keeps a tractor and control laser locked on the unit while its in atmosphere. They may be lying on their backs on the flight deck, but they don't have time for sightseeing. _

_Still, I wish I had brought along some music, even those bands that Teela is working with. The old saying, ninety-nine percent boredom, one percent sheer terror, but I can understand why the solo rockhounds in the Belt need a second person, or even a cat. _

_Misty has forgiven us our male sins since Mike's taken over cooking, he's gotten quite clever with beans, pasta and rice. That will no doubt put him in some young lady's good books in a couple years when he goes off to college. In the interim, Hank's been giving him some introductory lessons in Calculus. _

_We've all taken pictures for Teela, I understand she's been in negotiations with some of the American wizarding bands, as well as the ones on the stations. I hope she comes up with a better title than 'Music of the Spheres', it seems kind of, well, corny. Still, while Mike has a photo taken of him on the flight deck with the survey station orbiting Titan, he doesn't think he'll be believed regarding this trip. Speaking of which, we retrieved our sample return probe, although it was a bit hairy. There was a problem on its launch, and finding something the size of a basketball against an entire moon was a bit of a challenge. When all was said and done, we got it, returned to the 'tangy, and got it squared away. _

_So the Senate passed the Arrowhead bill. Finally! That will definitely help, but we've already got an advantage, the 'fustest with the mostest'. I saw two bits of news regarding Arrowhead, first that the only major holdout is now Red China, and the Guard has asked different governments to borrow some of their unarmed combat champions. Of course, the USMC is sending theirs, as well as the Royal Marines, the Russians, Israelis and so on. The kicker is to develop a style that can be used in variable gravity, against some of the nastier aliens. _

_That being said, don't worry about Arthur not replying to email. The boy is overly paranoid, and as for Elena, don't forget there are things that she can't talk about. I do feel a lot better that they're together, if not on the same ship at least in the same system. Besides, training in the military is designed to be tougher than the actual problem, it's supposed to make you react instinctively. I did see a small bit on the news that WayneTech is installing four 'Zogger' units for training purposes in the Guard's Corfu Island base. Apparently part of the contract requires each have a sign, 'Abandon hope, ye who enter' for some reason. Try asking Arthur about that, and what the units do, and see if he'll reply to that. _

_Switching back to Elena, she mentioned she's doing a lot of flying, and also that construction on the weather stations and college agricultural sites was going well. I would assume Ohio State's Ag program put in for that, it would be nice if they won one of the locations. _

_I'm going to close now, we should be reeling in the gondola shortly, I have to go put on my 'Captain's face' and 'supervise' the process. _

_Love to all,  
Bill_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 00:17 (GMT) (Firstday, 23 Quintus, 162: 06:05)  
Windfall, High Town, Government ministries:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Saamz leaned back in Paavue's chair and smirked. He had done his duty, warning the old fool that it was dangerous to go and confront the Terrans, and he had carefully objected to Paavue's use of the same tactics. He had personally gone to watch, taking a minor part in the search for Wayne, then faded back into the crowd as Paavue and Taaman had been captured. He would be meeting shortly with his counterpart, Caarn, from the Justice Ministry. They only had to decide between themselves the new spheres of influence; the Terrans had done all the work, while they would take the rewards...

He heard voices from the outer offices, and assumed that was Caarn being properly welcomed by his (HIS, now!) outer office slaves. The door to his office opened, and Saamz stood, "Caarn, wel..."

"If you are looking for Herr Caarn from the Justice Ministry, you will be waiting a long time," the Terran said. "He is unavoidably detained, and is now being shipped to our POW camp after a physical struggle with our people. If you have forgotten, Herr Saamz, we are at war with you, a war you started." A weapon was suddenly in his hand, pointing between his wide eyes. "We do not trust you, Herr Saamz. You have been dismissed, and will be escorted from the building. This ministry is closed."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You have heard the news?" Zuunti asked, coming un-announced into Daala's office.

"About Paavue and Taaman? Yes, they were fools," Daala replied.

"Not only those, the Terrans are taking everyone out of their ministries!" Zuunti added. "They are dismissing the free workers; saying they must reapply for their posts and only keeping the slaves for now. Only Baasht's Trade ministry they've left alone for now."

"Because Baasht sold out," a female's voice said, and the accursed Wayne stepped out of the darkness in the far office, accompanied by her male. "By now, he is far out to sea. I'm glad you're both here; I'm willing to offer you both the same deal. We have Trade, we are consolidating control over Security and Justice."

"I'll tell you what we told Paavue," the male, Mofton, was it? Zuunti shook off the irrelevancy, and listened. "We control both star systems here, the asteroid belts, the orbitals, the sky, sea, and land. You can try to play political games, like the assistants to Paavue and Taaman tried, and you'll wind up out of a job or in our prison. For you two, you cash out all your properties, and we do mean all. You get on your boats; set sail, and we never see you again. A peaceful, orderly transition of power..."

Zuunti was about to ask how they figured value, when Daala slammed his fist down, "Never! Give up what I have for a few grams? Let a mere _female_ steal the work of a life? Never! You will have to fight honestly for it! I call challenge, you cowardly _censored_ !"

"You call me coward?" Wayne said, moving forward so she was leaning over his desk. "Fine. I will fight you; I accept your challenge. When and where?"

"Challenge accepted!" Daala roared. "We fight! My fortune, my lands and holdings against yours!"

Zuunti sucked in a breath as the female stood up, eye to eye with Daala. "We fight," she said calmly. "I accept the stakes. Name the time."

"Today. Fifteenth hour, at the dueling pit. Bring your champion, _female_," he spat.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 09:17 (GMT) (Firsday, 23 Quintus, 162: 15:05)  
Windfall, High Town, Courthouse dueling pit:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Explain to me why I'm the one doing this?" Arthur asked as he limbered up. To guard against hidden weapons and armor, and to prove he was male, he had stood naked and blushing, turning for the crowd's inspection in the shallow 'pit', then quickly donned a pair of boxers. His opponent, a tall (for a local), and muscular guardsman chosen by Daala as his champion, wore only a breech clout.

"Because I wasn't up on the local code duello," Mattie explained. "Use of a champion is mandatory for females and the champion has to be someone who was present at the time when the challenge was issued, which was this morning. Sorry, my bad."

"And Gruber's not doing it because he wasn't there."

"Yep."

Arthur sighed. "At what point do we decide this is a horrible idea and fall back on superior firepower?"

"Before you die."

Arthur blinked twice. "Gee, thanks honey."

Mattie smiled, if Arthur was in danger, she'd use her Ring, just like Otto was in a sniper's nest within easy shot. "If we can win this under their rules, it'll go a long way toward helping peacefully reform the government here."

Arthur gave her a look. "What is this '_We_', kemosabe?"

"Use your reach advantage, and don't grapple, they're stronger than they look. Use their strength against them: Judo." Mattie briefly kissed him and climbed the steps out of the dirt floored arena.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"As you are not of the People, I will explain how the Challenge proceeds," Daala said in his role as Challenged Party and Master of Ceremonies. "As Challenged, I set the rules for the combat. You will fight without weapons, the way the Water Bringer intended. You may not receive outside aid of any sort. You may not leave the arena; the first to kill or disable your opponent wins. Failure to obey these rules will result in the death of your associates."

'_You just try that_,' Arthur thought, as he was lead to the center of the arena for the last of the formalities before the duel could begin.

"Your mate?" his opponent asked, waving toward the front row where Mattie sat.

"My intended mate," Arthur clarified.

"So you haven't..."

"No."

"Fascinating." Formally, he stated, "I am Miika, third-son of Daala. Have that name ready for the Inquisitors of the Dark Pool if you wish to reach the Afterworld."

"I am Arthur Donald Morton and I've already met the ruler of Hell. Tell him I sent you."

While the exchange wasn't according to protocol, it was sufficient. Miika lashed out with a straight right hand, which Arthur barely blocked. Mattie was right; the locals were stronger than they looked.

When the strike was repeated split seconds later, Arthur was ready for it, parrying with his right forearm and striking out with his left fist. It connected with his foe's shoulder, but did no damage.

Miika bull-rushed, but Arthur nimbly spun away from the attack and the two that followed, adding an elbow strike to the final pass. Switching back to a boxing style offense, Miika launched punches that weren't quite reaching his opponent. He left openings to encourage his opponent to attack, but the Terran wouldn't bite. Not that he blamed him. If those feeble blows were the best he could do, a stand up fight would be the last thing he wanted. Wearing him down would have to suffice.

Three long minutes later, with Arthur taking more than he'd dealt, Daala leaned over to Mattie and said, "Your champion dodges well, but he is tiring. I hope you enjoy being my slave."

Mattie replied lightly, but clearly, "The loser becomes the slave of the winner? Keep that in mind, Daala." Inwardly, she worried. Had she been allowed to fight for herself, the battle would have been over in seconds. Still, Arthur was holding his own. '_Have to run him through a few rounds with Zogger when we get home_,' she thought.

Arthur knew he couldn't dodge forever. He'd have to go on the offensive at some point if he wanted to win. At his first opportunity, he planted his right foot and launched a snap kick toward Miika's gut, which Miika caught in an iron grip.

"Dodge me now, Terran," Miika crowed. The battle was all but over.

Taking advantage of the lower gravity, Arthur hopped up on his right leg and whipped his right foot into Miika's unprotected head in a classic insiguri. Both fighters fell to the ground, but Arthur recovered first. Pouncing on his opponent, Arthur looked for the nerve cluster in the shoulder region... there! A quick knuckle strike, and Miika suddenly collapsed. Checking his pulse, Arthur stood, picking up the loser's left arm and letting it flop to the dirt.

"I believe you said the losers become slaves, Daala?" Mattie asked the thunderstruck Elder.

"He... he cheated! You... coached him! I call assistance!"

"I was trained," Arthur replied. "I fought under your rules, in your arena. No one assisted me in this combat. They all witnessed it," he added, waving to the crowd. "You will deny me my victory?"

"He is alive," one of the court bailiffs called, checking Miika.

"Oh, go ahead, collar the fool," Daala said, waving at the unconscious Miika. "As Clan Elder, I want him gelded, I don't want him in my bloodline."

"That takes care of Miika, what about you, Daala?" Mattie asked loudly. There was an ugly murmur to the crowd.

"I am Grand Councilor! I am not a slave!"

"You are the loser in a trial by combat, as is your champion," the head bailiff replied. "You informed the female that the loser became the slave of the victor. Do you deny your own words, Daala, or does your honor mean nothing?" She waited, gauging the crowd, then motioned to a subordinate, "Strip and collar him. The female has won, she may claim victor's rights."

"I do so," Mattie said, and the head bailiff said, "Yes, Councilor," confirming Mattie's new status. The bailiff added, "Geld the unconscious slave, too."

"Wait, if I have victor's rights here, I don't want a slave, and I don't want him gelded." The crowd paused, uncertain. He didn't want the slave he'd clearly won?

Daala, firmly held in the grip of the two bailiffs, was confused. The young human had just fought, risking his life and freedom for the female who had challenged, no, taken, his position. And yet, mere moments later, it was clear that same human was willing to fight against her. He may be able to profit from this yet, but it was very odd.

Mattie turned, "Officer? Would you be kind enough to explain something?"

She left the convict in the care of two of her troopers, "Yes, Councilor? How may I assist?"

Motioning to Daala, she continued, "I do apologize, but as you know, I am not fully up to speed on local laws and customs. Is it normally the case in a duel that the losers are enslaved?"

"Normally, no," she said. "The original Challenge was for position and property. Had your champion lost, you would then have forfeited your properties, including your lands, slaves, and starships." The crowd murmured in agreement as she continued, "While unusual, it is acceptable under current law. What makes this court case..."

"This is a court case?" Arthur interrupted.

"Yes, Champion," the bailiff replied, ignoring the discourtesy. "As legal as in the courthouse itself. Why do you think the dueling pit was built on Court Land?" Arthur could hear the capital letters. "As Master of Ceremonies, it is unusual to modify a Challenge. However, the former Daala was legally entitled to do so." Clearing her throat, she clarified, "The former Daala extended the Challenge for legal status." She shrugged, "He is collared by his own words, Councilor. You have no say in the matter, it is a matter of law."

"My apologies for my previous rudeness, Officer," Arthur said with a small bow, and a ripple of approval went through the crowd. She smiled behind her mask, and made a small gesture, "If we do not wish the slaves, what then?"

"Your own choice, Champion, is for the one you defeated, the former Miika," she replied. "If you do not wish him, he will be auctioned on the block as a full slave, with a judicial collar. You have right of first refusal." She crossed her wrists behind her, and Arthur nodded, recognizing the sign. "Your mate's choice is different. She must decide to accept all or none, as that was the modified conditions under which you fought. Should she not wish the judicial slave formerly named Daala, she may sell him, but she must initially accept the slave before she does so, as well as the former Daala's property and position." She looked hard at him; and then turned to look at Mattie, "She would be the first female on the Council of Elders. If she declines acceptance of the slave..."

"I have fought for nothing..." he said. "Would you object if I consult with my mate in private? We have our own moral and ethical code to follow."

The bailiff took a step back, as Mattie jumped down into the pit, and he said softly, "Another fine mess..."

"Sometimes I think I should travel with a lawyer," she admitted. "The way I see it, Daala got greedy and figured he'd get my property as well as my neck in a collar. You, he probably intended to hang."

"Sounds like him," he sighed. "What do you think?"

"I think..." she mused. "If I decline Daala, I decline everything," and she reached up to gently wipe away a trickle of blood. "We're back where we started, one of his allies will buy Daala, and he'll continue to cause problems, and we haven't really accomplished anything. All of the plans we have will need to be reworked, without the political leverage that we would have had."

"And we'd be slave owners," he said bitterly.

"Strictly speaking, we, or rather I am, through Christine, and all the rescued girls," she said. "There's also all the slaves in the different Ministries, the Elder's private property, and so forth. I don't see a good way out of that one, unless..." He waited as she thought, then she looked up, "Our problem here is Miika and Daala. Miika, when he wakes up, is going to be pissed as hell at Daala."

"I would be," he agreed.

She nodded, "We accept both of them, and you arrange with Miika for Daala's escape. We know he's got an island hideaway and a boat, once he makes his move, we search and can't find him. Daala can't come back to create problems, he's an escaped slave, which gives him a death sentence. We don't kill him, his political influence is gone, he's out of our hair, and we don't have to worry about his becoming a martyr."

"That'd be slightly better than a public exile," Arthur grunted. "What about Miika?"

"Up to him," she replied. "He can escape with Daala, and we can't find him either. On the other hand, if he doesn't want to live with Daala for the rest of his life, he participates in the search for Daala, and as a reward for his long and faithful service, we have the System Governor annul his conviction, and then you free him."

"You really don't like Daala, do you?"

"Remind me to show you Uncle Eddie's report on him and the Council." She rested her forearms on his shoulders, leaning forward to touch foreheads when she jerked back. "Oh, damn." Taking a step back, she held out her right hand and a hologram emerged from her Ring. Arthur, as well as the others, could see a Wookie speaking and gesticulating. She replied, "I'll be there as quick as I can, Amber," and cut the connection. She stretched up to give Arthur a kiss, "I got to go, dear. Got to handle an invasion, take care of things for me." With a thought, her halter-top and denim skirt shimmered and transformed to black tights; a green turtleneck leotard with a small green Lantern logo. She rose up on a shaft of green light, and with the crack of a sonic boom, she was gone.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"My Lord Lantern," the chief bailiff said, kneeling, her head down. "We did not know..."

"You weren't supposed to," Arthur replied. "Still, it's only one invasion, it shouldn't take her long. We need to finish this," and a half-squad of infantry appeared, deploying around him. He strode over to the chief bailiff, telling her, "Stand up, please. You were saying, Daala is collared by his own words, if we take him or not."

"Yes, My Lord Lantern," she said, lowering her head again. "Please forgive us, we did not mean to offend..."

"You have not," he informed her. "Daala, on the other hand, is a pain in the ass. Stand him up, please," he asked her guards, who vaulted to their feet, almost throwing him to his. "Daala, you are a pain. You're more trouble than you're worth, so I'm going to give you a choice. Mattie doesn't like killing her enemies. I'm not so reluctant." Daala looked at him curiously as he continued, "I'll give you a choice, a collar with us, or a noose on the High Street."

Arthur could see the calculation in the old man's eyes. He lowered his head, "Your collar, my lord." Taking a step back, Arthur gestured to Daala's guards.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 11:59 (GMT) (Firsday, 23 Quintus, 162: 17:42)  
Windfall, High Town, Grand Councilor's home:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh... this is NICE..." Arthur said as he was escorted to the former Grand Councilor's home. While essentially a cave built into the side of the volcano, it was a luxurious cave, with fine wooden floors, graceful wall hangings, and wide windows looking out across the caldera and to the sea beyond. Other islands could be seen in the distance, as well as a smudge of land on the far horizon. He turned at the patter of feet and the shimmering sound of a slave's bells. A girl came in, dropping to her knees and bending forward, head down, wrists out for binding. He caught her, and the girl sighed through her heavy black mask.

"I think you just accepted her as a slave," the Feldwebel said. He took a step forward as the slave whimpered once, her head still down. "Sit back, girl, let us take a look at you." The girl relaxed back, hands on her spread knees, head down. She wore a white slave smock with the ubiquitous yellow edging, a galactic collar and belt, the local registration tattoo and breast chains.

"What's that on your ankles?" the Feldwebel asked, adding "On your belly, please, and feet up in the air." The girl did so, cuffing herself as they examined the black metal. Forming a dull point on the top of her foot, the device forced her to walk on her toes. "Do all of Daala's slaves wear these things?" he asked. The girl whimpered once, and Arthur said, "Why should Daala be different than the other Elders? Lead us to the rest of the girls, please."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"It's a beautiful planet, but I'm really starting to hate some of the people," Arthur said, sheathing his wand as he finished cutting the steel of a slave girl's hobbles. One of the brawnier soldiers bent it off her ankle, and she sobbed as another popped the rivets holding her heavy leather mask on. The hobble clanked as it was tossed into the pile in the slave cell. Daala's prisoners had also been examined and released from their more painful restraints, locked into cells until more information was available.

The slave was helped to her knees, the feeding tube extracted from her throat as she coughed. She leaned forward, dry-heaving, wrists still cuffed behind her as Arthur said, "Next few days are no-work days for you girls. Only those who can stand will cook, and that's very simple foods. You stay off your feet as much as possible, until we can get you girls fixed up." She coughed, jaw working, then croaked, "Yes, master."

"I want to get those chains off their breasts," the Feldwebel said. "I can imagine how painful those must be." He looked at the pile of discarded hobbles, lips drawing back in a snarl. "I'd like to see how long Daala lasts in a pair of those..."

"I know, but unfortunately we're the good guys."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, this is just stupid," Arthur said as he entered the kitchen to see the dozen or so slaves trying to go about their normal routine despite obvious pain. "Right, all you girls, on your bellies, head to toe in a circle, you're going to massage each others' lower legs and feet." Otto sat on the floor and started to massage a calf. "Flex the foot, gently, Fraulein," he told her. "Do not force it, be patient."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

There was a tone, and one of the girls said (her throat still raw), "The lower entrance, master. Were you expecting anything?"

"Could be Miika," a trooper named Friedrich said. "I'll fetch him in for you," with a nod from the Feldwebel. "I'll carry you if you can show me, girl?"

"Of course, master," and she cuffed herself. At his raised eyebrow, she said, "I am a slave, master, we must keep up proper appearances if you are to carry me off for your pleasure."

"Just carry you, then, it would be too much like having my own daughter, girl," he said uncomfortably. She pouted in frustration.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"This is the lower entrance, master," the girl said as she rode face-forward in a fireman's carry.

He looked at the heavy wooden door, banded with more expensive iron, asking, "How did you lot open that?"

"With two slaves, master," she replied as he set her down to kneel. He pounded once on the door, "Who goes there?"

"Two slaves for delivery," the bored reply came. Friedrich started undoing the various locks, then threw the last one with his weapon at the ready. He pulled at the door and saw a short detail of a 'corporal' and three 'privates', all female, with two kneeling male slaves. He glanced around, and the corporal offered a clipboard, "Sign for the slaves, please." Smirking, she added, "Enjoying yourself?"

"Singing lessons," he replied blandly. "Let me see these two," and confirmed they were Miika and Daala. "Sing for me, girl."

"Um... 'La, la, laaa,' master,'" she tried.

"See, voice like a bird. She should do it professionally. Inside, you two." He gave the 'corporal' a lazy salute, and closed the door, and with a 'clank', bolted it shut.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Here we are, milord, one Miika," Fredrich said, escorting the male slave into the kitchen. "And my little bird was a wonderful guide," pulling her off his shoulder and setting her back on her knees.

"Thank you, master," she said. "May we leave Daala there to die?"

Arthur saw a suppressed snort from Miika as he asked, "Where is he?" At Fredrich's motion, the slave girl said, "In a punishment cell, master. I hope he takes a long time to die there."

"I get the feeling Daala doesn't have too many supporters here," Arthur replied. "Unfortunately, we can't simply kill him, we didn't even want him, or Miika in a collar." Miika raised his head, then quickly lowered it again. "Miika, relax, we're not your enemy, and somebody get that damn mask off him." The Feldwebel did so, springing his cuffs loose as well.

"Thank you, master," he said. A new judicial collar glowed on his neck as he massaged his wrists, regarding them. Arthur returned his gaze, Miika finally broke the silence, "Master, may I ask why you wished me collared?"

"I did not," Arthur replied. "Anyone who told you that was misinformed. We are opposed to the institution of slavery, but we didn't have any choice where you or Daala were concerned. Daala is the one that wanted you gelded. I simply knocked you out."

Miika regarded him in silence. "Daala?" he finally said softly. He massaged his chin, "Why not enslave your enemies, keep them in sight; put them to work for you?"

"Are these girls my enemies?" Arthur asked softly, waving at the household slave girls. "You're not my enemy, you were Daala's tool to try to steal Mattie's property. When Daala's plan failed, he discarded his tool. That still doesn't make you my enemy."

Heinrich added, "Our moral and ethical code does not permit the enslavement, sale or trade of another sentient being."

"In the past," Otto said, "We have fought bloody civil wars, father against daughter, brother against sister, over this issue. It is in our recent past, and still causes strong feelings. Tell me, would you toss a newborn child on a fire?"

"WHAT?" Miika said in outrage.

"So we feel about slaves," the Feldwebel said. "Now, we might have convicts, judicial prisoners that are chained to prevent escape, but they are not slaves. They work for a certain number of years and are paid for their work."

"You PAY your slaves, master?" one of the girls asked in shock.

"No, we pay our employees," Arthur replied. "Just like we pay our prisoners of war for their labor, and slave girls here are allowed bank accounts. Also, the terms 'master' and 'mistress' are rather offensive to us. We understand that you've been raised from birth to think you're a slave, that you're not a person, but an animal. We understand that you're conditioned to use those terms. Out there," he waved, indicating the rest of the planet and the galaxy at large, "you can use those terms, and we'll endure it."

There was silence as they tried to wrap their heads around these concepts. After a few minutes, one kneeling girl mused quietly, "That's... almost freedom..."

"Tell me, what is freedom? What does that mean to you?" Fredrich asked gently.

She sighed, and somewhat wistfully said, "To say what I want, go where I want, do what I want, master."

"The first one's simple enough," Arthur said. "Tell us the truth; we'd rather have it. However, to us, the terms 'mistress' or 'master' have two meanings. One, which means 'owner', is offensive to us."

Another girl coughed, and sipped her tea. "What is the second meaning, mas..." she blinked, "I do not know what to say besides 'master', without giving offense."

"My personal name is Arthur, my clan name, or family name, is Morton," he replied. "If you must use a title, for a male you can use 'Sir', for a female, 'Ma'am'." He moved to the teapot, filling one for Miika, then his own. As he handed it over, he added, "The second meaning for 'mistress' or 'master' to us is 'teacher', although you could use 'sensei'. This also means 'teacher', it would be used as 'Sensei Morton'."

"The second part is more difficult," Otto said. "To go and do what you want, you must be able to pay for it, and you must be able to do it safely."

Another girl sighed in defeat, "It was a beautiful dream, to be free..." she said.

"You can be," Arthur said, and the girls bolted upright, a few asking "Master?"

"There is two parts to your freedom, mental and physical. The mental part is training you to think free, the physical part is your collars, belts, and so forth."

"Think free, master?" the girl asked.

"We have been operating a resettlement camp at Port Lincoln for several months now," Arthur said. "We take in slave girls that had a death sentence, mostly bred slaves from WorkForce, and help them to think outside their collars, to reason things out for themselves. Instead of being told to do this, this, and this, in a specific way, they have a list of things that need to be done, and they figure out the rest."

A few girls shivered, but one said, "I remember... before I was collared..." She looked up at Arthur, "Mas..." she shook herself, "My apologies, was it..." she cocked her head.

"'Sensei' is the term," the Feldwebel said. "Excellent. Can you help these other girls?"

"Yes, Sensei," the girl said. "I would be pleased to." She shifted to address the other slaves, "If I understand correctly, even if our new owners wished to, it is not as simple as waving a hand, not as simple as removing our chains. We still kneel; we have crossed our wrists to them. We must earn our freedom, but now, it is possible, if we learn what they will teach us."

"We may earn our freedom, Master?" one slave asked.

"We still speak and act as slaves, we are dressed like slaves, collared and belted as slaves," the girl who had first met them said. "If we were to go out and shout, 'I'm free!' none would believe us."

"That is what we mean when we say 'think free', even if you're still wearing a lit collar," Arthur said.

"Like we're in, master..." one girl said, then blushed, "Please forgive me!"

"Try, please," the Feldwebel said. "We know we are asking you to break the habits of a lifetime. Please continue, Herr Morton."

"The problem is that in order to move a girl between collars, she has to go through a slaver machine," Arthur explained. "We have two of them, and to place or change a collar takes thirty seconds or so. Adding another minute to get her in and out of the machine, and with forty-two hundred girls, two machines at ninety seconds each, that's fifty-two and a half hours. Where the real bottleneck is..."

"Bottleneck?"

"The... slow point is," he re-phrased, "Is if a girl requires medical care, like you all do. Every slave girl on this island, all fifty thousand, wear those stupid breast chains (he gestured with his teacup), you lot wore the hobbles, and the feeding masks. To get you lot back up to speed, at the very least we're going to have to cut off those neck rings and chains, which will take..." he shrugged.

"Let us get that done here, with these girls. We can then estimate the time better," the Feldwebel said. "I called in, they are sending us the appropriate equipment. We shall wait..."

"No, master," Miika said. "We are slaves, we shall wait for the package. It would not be proper for you to do so."

"I agree, master," the First Girl said, the other slaves nodding. "Appearances must be maintained."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Join me, please, Miika," his new Master told him, and of course he did. Opening the door to the small room built outside, he gestured Miika out, adding, "Please, speak freely." Miika nodded, standing next to the barrier that his new Master leaned against. Lord Arthur sighed after looking at the sea for a time, "What I'd like to do is drop Daala into the nearest volcano, but my moral code won't let me."

Miika was tempted to ask why not. After battle, the winners did whatever they wanted to the losers. His master continued, "I'd prefer a public exile, but an unofficial one can hurt Daala a lot more as long as slavery is legal here. However, I wonder how much influence he would have as a slave."

The concept of slavery not being legal shook Miika to his core. '_How can order be maintained without slavery_?' he thought. That, and other questions welled up in his mind, only to be stopped short of his tongue. "He... might take some of his hostages with him. He is said to keep relatives imprisoned here. That may hold off pursuit," Miika mused aloud.

His Master continued, "Then you need to ensure that anyone going with him goes voluntarily. This is where you get a chance to earn your freedom." Arthur wanted to know if the local would free himself.

"Me, Mas... Milord?" The flash of annoyance that crossed his features over the slip was worthy of a master; that much was certain.

"Daala has a sailboat hidden where he thought no one would find it, however, we did. The cargo shows every sign of being carefully chosen: non-perishable food, seeds, tools, metal, waterproof cloth." He turned to look at Miika, "Everything that he might need to establish himself in reasonable comfort on another island with as many or few people as he can cram on board. Your job is to make certain he uses it."

"How, Milord?"

"As you and Daala are the first 'slaves' (his master made a hand gesture) I've owned, it won't be much of a surprise if the two of you slip away. The tricky part for you is making sure that Daala goes alone or that anyone who does go with him goes voluntarily."

"Including myself?" Miika asked cautiously.

"Do you have reason to go?" Arthur asked in return.

Knowing Daala, a veritable fortune was stored on that craft. How to obtain that and his freedom would require some thought. But leaving, with or without Daala, would brand him as an escaped slave, a condition definitely to be avoided. What good was wealth that couldn't be spent? "I... do not know. I think it very unlikely that any slave of Daala's household would seek to join him in exile."

"I agree."

Miika was not surprised. "If I freed him, he would suspect. He should expect to die by my hand, not escape because of it."

"Then you may need to get one or more of the girls in on your plan. After what he had locked on their feet, I don't think they would voluntarily do so, but they may ACT as if they will. Come up with a plan, our goal is to get Daala on the boat and out to sea. Let me know what it is so I can help." Miika was shocked that he was entrusted by his new Master in such a thing. Lord Arthur surprised him further by asking, "Did you have anything you wished to discuss with me privately?"

"N... not at the present time, Milord."

"Then let's go back inside," and the door was held for him again.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"They have arrived," the Feldwebel said when Arthur and Miika returned. "A bolt-cutter has been tested on these ring collars, and we are ready to use the laser cutter for the hobbles. We may use the antibiotic, or simply a strong alcohol when we remove the nipple-rings." He made a face, "They are simply crimped in place, so they can be pried off." He turned to face the girls in the kitchen, "This may be painful. I need a volunteer, preferably one with large breasts?"

"I volunteer, master," one of the off-world slaves said, sitting up. She brushed back her reddish-blonde hair, and Arthur saw she wore a judicial collar, and was Enhanced, "Please do not take this incorrectly, but I am pleased that former master Daala is being punished, and as a slave himself," she said with a certain amount of vicious pleasure. Miika stroked his chin as the girl seated herself; Arthur saw she also wore penalty brands as she perched on the corner of a chair. Otto and the Feldwebel leaned over, muttering in German as they examined her.

"Ach, two stages," Otto said, standing up and massaging his lower back. "After removing the bells, the connecting ring from the chain to the metal cover is simply mated, not welded. We simply pull it apart, sloppy work. The girls can do it themselves. The metal cover, though, is pressed through the nipple tissue, presumably with a hand tool. It can also be pulled apart, but risks infection, and is likely to be painful. Where is the alcohol?"

"We shall fetch it," Fredrich said, and scooped up his 'songbird'. "Come, girl. We need the purest drinking alcohol. Show me where the bar is."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, it hurts," the girl sobbed, her hands cuffed behind her. She threw back her head, "Please continue, masters."

"There," Otto said, standing up. He turned her around, releasing her hands so she could now grab her slightly bloody nipples. He handed her the two thin disks of light steel, her ring collar on the floor next to her. She touched her breasts, confirming to herself they were off, then grabbed Otto in a fierce hug, "Oh, thank you, master!" She kissed him, then turned to the Feldwebel, "You too, master!"

"You are most welcome," he said; then helped her stand. "Now, the alcohol will sting, but it is necessary to prevent infection. Through the holes, now, and then put on a very clean tunic to protect them."

"Yes, master!" she said gleefully.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 12:07 (GMT)  
Terra, University of London, Education Department lunchroom:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Minerva said to me the other day," Callista Vector said as she opened up her lunch. "The L1 station wasn't quite what she imagined it to be."

"Please continue," Severus said. "I daresay Bella is considering it for ours, any information would be appreciated." He took a bite of his apple, then a sip of tea.

"That is the type of thing the gents arrange," Harry agreed. "Ginny got Gred and Forge's reports that they emailed to Ms. Wayne, but Angelina and Alicia had a different take." He opened up his own lunch bag, as several other members of the class listened in. "Callista, feel free to chip in here," and he opened a can of soda with a 'pshstt' sound.

"Minnie expected it to be something like a submarine, and the initial platform, the one in low orbit, does look like one," Callista said after taking a sip of tea from a thermos. "It, and the higher one in GEO orbit, are transit stations. She did say she was told the residential areas were much nicer, but still, it looked like what it was, a big aluminum box with windows. Then again, no one expects five-star appearance from a Tube station."

"True, or an airport," Professor Knewell said. "The view must have been spectacular, though. What about lost luggage?"

"They made-do with large carryons," Harry put in. "Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton, as part of their wedding gifts, paid for their suits and a week's stay, but extra bags are still £50 a kilo."

There were whistles, and Callista raised a finger, "That's come down substantially, the Yank shuttle's price is ten thousand dollars a kilo. Still, there aren't many destinations, so they do with coloured luggage tags." She raised a hand, "L1, L4, L5, GEO, and the Eunomia station in the Belt. Rather difficult to mess up that system. Now, the major cost of the ticket is the suit, which runs about £2500, and that's come down also. Rather like a white bodysuit, it's laser-measured, and once you're fit, you cannot gain weight. Part of the trip is in zero gee and vacuum."

Harry added, "Severus, you might mention to Bella that you'll be muggles, so pack your wands and potions." He took a swallow of his soda, as Callista said, "Albus' largest problem was his hair and beard, he had refused to cut them, so getting an airtight seal on his helmet was a problem."

"How so?" one of the students asked.

"Albus Dumbledore is an old man, 160 or so, with a full white beard and hair," Filius Flitwick said, and Pomona added, "Waist length." Filius nodded, "Since hair stands out in zero-gee, like the old 'afro' style, and you must have a perfect seal, I can see this as a problem. I'm sure he was asked to cut them, it's not like they couldn't easily be regrown, but he can be incredibly stubborn on some things." He clapped his hands, "What else, how was the food?"

"Very fresh, although the beef was expensive, and imported," Callista replied. "Most of the meat was chicken, fish, or goat. Cattle are not cost-efficient for a station," she added, "and milk-cows have to be kept pregnant. High-calcium diet, so there was a great deal of excellent vegetarian food, and plenty of places to work it off. The hotel's restaurant she marked as needing a bit of work, primarily because of the lighting, it was rather dim. However, the view was spectacular, huge windows. However, there were quite a few other, family-type restaurants, including a decent sized curry house."

"So meat wasn't available?" a student asked.

Harry put in, "No, no. Chicken, fish, goat meat were all available, but beef had to be flown up, and was expensive. There are extensive gardens, and the fruit trees are still young, they haven't produced yet, so apples and suchlike were also shipped up. There was also quite a bit of sport, tennis, basketball..."

"Swimming," Callista said, having finished her sandwich, and grinning, "Albus had a spot of bother, he got into the middle of a bubble of water and couldn't get out."

"Ah," Severus said. "Sir Issac Newton strikes again. However, one does not book a honeymoon suite to swim in a pool. How was the consummation?"

"Doesn't NASA have a 'hundred mile high club'?" one student asked with a smirk.

"Being a government agency," Callista said. "I am certain there are scientific studies about that, and as memory serves, there was at least one married couple aboard their shuttle." She grinned, "However, the suites themselves, there are an even dozen, received a down-mark from Minerva, due to the..." (She cleared her throat), "...soundproofing."

"The lack thereof," Harry clarified. "They are very close to the axis of rotation, and any gravity is thus microscopic. As far as the bed, it is not what one has on Earth, a mattress. Instead, one has a marital tube."

"Marital TUBE?" Professor Knewell asked.

"More properly, a siphon or funnel," Callista said, vastly amused. "An aluminum ring on either end, about six feet across, lets you into a mesh tube about ten feet long and four feet across. If you think about the mechanics of the act..."

"Most clever," Severus commented. "One has a place to brace, traction by means of one's fingers and toes, and it is presumably open enough for the claustrophobic. Much better than NASA's plan on using straps and a harness. I presume other surfaces were available?"

"You presume correctly. Padded surfaces aplenty," Callista said with a smirk. "One other thing for Bella to know, Severus. While they did see business wear, most of the hotel was casual wear; leotards and casual skirts or shorts for the ladies, and the hotel's corporate wear was in the hotel's colours of dark green and silver."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 17:29 (GMT) (Firsday, 23 Quintus, 162: 24:17)  
Windfall, High Town, Grand Councilor's home:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Come in, C'ari, have a seat," Arthur said that night. "I'm having this conversation with all the girls, I've already talked to Miika." The attractive redhead knelt in front of his chair, and he said, "You can sit on a chair, you know. I want you to be comfortable; this is just between you and I. No master, no slave. Two people."

"Yes, master," she said. "If it is master's order for me to sit, I will."

Arthur shook his head, "No, as long as you're comfortable, and you don't have to call me master, remember?"

"Yes, master, I do," and she tapped her implant. "I am an Enhanced slave, master. How may I serve you, master?"

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and addressing the ceiling, "I'm trying to find out things about each of you girls, but some of the digital information is restricted, I'm going to have to dig up and inspect the physical records." He massaged his eyes, "Can you help me find them?"

"Yes, master." Her voice was robotic, and he snapped forward. The girl was high on her knees, hands cuffed behind her, staring straight ahead. "C'ari, um, what happened?"

"Master restricted this slave, then ordered inspection position," she replied in her machine-like voice. "How may this slave assist, master?"

"Um..." Arthur thought, "Tell me about yourself? How do I, um, get you back to normal?"

"This slave is an enhanced model 128 WorkForce product. Command codes are specified in sales data for this slave. This slave does not have access to command codes."

"Joy. Um, more information, please, on model 128."

Her tone changed into a sales pitch, "The popular Model 128 is a chase slave. Designed for high intelligence, creativity, and cunning, the slave is enhanced with strength, stamina, a rapid healing ability, a biological and digestive system able to tolerate a wide range of animal and vegetable proteins, as well as a high tolerance for pain when she is recaptured. Visually designed for high recognizability, the slave is designed to be attractive, enhancing any households' decor. Buy one now!" Her voice changed back, "Does master wish information on other popular WorkForce models similar to this slave?"

"Er, no. I'd like to talk to C'ari. Can you, um, release her?"

"Command code not valid. Slave accessible."

"C'ari, can you hear me, talk to me? What's the release code?"

"I don't know, master. I don't have access to that part of my implant. Please, master, please..." her voice changed again, "This slave loves her collar."

"Okay... I'm going to assume the opposite of that statement. C'ari?"

"Yes, master. This slave is your slave, what do you wish to know?"

"Aside from releasing you..." he paused, but she remained high on her knees, ignoring the command code, "What would you like me to do with you?"

Her voice changed again, "If this slave is not suitable, sell this slave. This slave desires only her collar."

"Oh, boy," he said. "Let's try this code. Um, 'Model 128 slave release'." Nothing happened. "Um, Model 128, slave... (He leaned forward to read her collar) ...15006, release." The girl collapsed, crying. She looked up at him, "Thank you, master!" she snapped.

"Hey, I tried..." and she glared at him. "I'm going to assume you don't love your collar?"

"Would you, master?" she struggled with her cuffs, "Designed, bred, and sold as a decorative household slave that a master can hunt for sport? That once her inevitable capture is accomplished, she can be punished, whipped and beaten, branded and collared as a criminal, for obeying her orders? That she can be turned into a... machine for the pleasure of her master? Oooh, I hate this! I hate everything about this!" She knelt, knees wide, wrists still cuffed behind her, crying, "I want my freedom... I want out of this collar... Source, please... I don't ask much, just my collar..."

She cried, then when she heard nothing from her new master, turned, and he was asleep in his chair. C'ari was slightly offended, but thought to herself, '_I am only a slave, it is understandable that Master should not be concerned with me_.' Rising, she silently made her way from Master's office to the entrance to Master's suite, where she found Master's First Slave Miika waiting. Kneeling, she asked softly, "First? Our new Master is asleep in the office, and requires bathing, dressing his injuries, and a long, restful sleep. In addition, I require discipline for talking too much and being rude to our Master. Please gag me, then I will assist you."

The First Slave rubbed his chin, "We do not know how long Master will require sleep to heal. Where should I bind you?"

"That is the First Slave's choice, but as Master was questioning this slave when he fell asleep, there are suitable facilities in Master's office for binding and disciplining a slave," C'ari replied.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 08:17 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"How are my two ladies doing today?" Poppy Pomfrey asked, entering the small private room where the two floated.

"I want to scratch," Doc said, Sandra echoing, "I agree. This is driving me insane."

"I did say there would be some mild irritation..." the medi-witch said.

"We do tend to understate the sensations slightly," the off-world Healer agreed. "May I inquire about the small beings, about a meter high, with pointed ears? Are they slaves? They keep referring to us as 'mistress'."

"Those are house elves," Poppy said. "They do the laundry, cooking, cleaning and so forth." She sighed, "As to why they do what they do, no, they are not slaves, but they want to work, they would happily work all day and all week long, they consider it insulting to be paid, or if an elf takes a day off, they are considered 'lazy'." She shook her head, "There is a lot of history there, some of it rather shameful on our part. If you don't mind a man coming in to see you, I'll have Remus stop by, he's our History professor."

"Not at all," Sandra said, adding, "Not a single 'mistress' from you, either, Doc. Something's going right."

"Well, let me turn you over," Poppy said, and the Healer got her first look at a white sheet that hung below her. "What are those black particles?"

"Bits of metal that have worked their way through your skin, that is the cause of the itching." Doc could see more of them fall on the sheet as she rotated. "My scalp itches," she commented.

"The metal is trapped in your hair," Poppy said. "With your consent, I will shave your hair and apply a epilating potion."

"Epi... that's permanent hair removal, isn't it?" Sandra asked. "I want to keep some hair!"

"Not a problem, I will use a different potion there, one the men use instead of shaving. Simply tell me where, otherwise, your legs, arms and so forth will be permanently clean," Poppy said. "It is also not a problem to regrow whatever hair you wish to the length, colour, and texture you wish." She moved something on Doc's neck, "Did you feel that, dear?"

"Yes, I did, around my collar."

"I rotated your collar, and have moved it up and down on your neck. Would you like it removed?"

"YES!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

J'lan entered the Great Hall, where most of the crew of the _Scythe_ congregated, throwing three things on the table. "Those are Doc's collar and enhancement board, and Sandra's collar. They estimate another week."

One picked up the board, staring at it, as others picked up the collars, similar to what they themselves wore. "Source..." one whispered. "I could be free of my collar..."

"I truly do hate to say this," Diijon said. "I want my collar off as much as anyone. However, as the Captain's away, I must remind people that we are covered as a slave ship, and therefore must have collared and belted slaves as crew." She took a contemplative sip of her tea, "In addition, this is taking a full month, our entire leave time. We know that common collars can be removed much more quickly, this is a secondary method, in case that fails, like it did with Sandra." She took another sip, then put her tea down with a decisive click. "Given my own situation, I will volunteer to leave my collar on but unlit; as our 'Priestess' I would ask at least two others to volunteer to leave their collars lit."

"I will, mistress," Brittany, their Chief Engineer said. "The court asked me to take another cruise with the _Scythe_, and I now know the removal of my Enhancement is possible. I shall ask Mac when I see her again to join me."

"I will, mistress," Pamela said. She gestured to her own judicial collar, "I wear the ship's collar, which I will not be out of any time soon, and I am First Girl, or I assume I remain so."

"I... do not know yet," One said slowly. She poured a cup of tea, "Given my own situation, mistress, the software that is linked to my own Enhancement, I wonder if it would be possible, or even a partial removal, just leaving the access port as a visible sign." She added a bit of the Terran sugar to her tea, stirring it as she thought. She picked up Sandra's collar, examining the circle of metal, and noticed the ends where the collar had attached itself to the First Officer's nervous system. "For now, mark me as wearing a lit common collar, mistress." She looked down the table at the five rescued hotel girls, who were huddled together, discussing the situation. "They are young, this gives them their lives, they do not have to wander the galaxy as collared slaves. They can grow, gain an education..."

One of the girls looked up, "That is what we are discussing, mistress. The _Scythe_ is our ship, you are family." Another asked, "Mistress Diijon, what happened with the ship's slaves when the free crew stayed with us at the hotel?"

"They stayed in a cell on a lower level," she replied. "For a cell, it looked comfortable. Why, do you think we shall buy more hotel slaves?"

"We think it is a strong possibility, mistress," 22416 replied. "I can wear a lit collar if it will help spare a sister slave's life. It is a small sacrifice on my part, and while having a life, an education is attractive, I would feel guilt that I was placing myself, my pleasure ahead of that slave's life." She sighed, "The _Scythe_ is a slave ship, I do not think she would carry common cargo."

"She is also not a warship," 22409 added. "That would be my preference, to be able to strike at WorkForce." She tapped her datapadd. "The Terran's news is interesting, mistress. They are making rapid gains in building their forces, and they are using machines where others would use slaves." She looked down the table at One. "I wish to gain all the knowledge I can, mistress. The higher my Guild rating, the better I will be thought of when I am of sufficient age to seek admittance to their military forces. Until then, I can kneel and wear the ship's collar."

"That makes sense," One said. "I will also include instruction on mathematics and languages."

"On our next leave," J'lan added, "I will seek training in fighting skills. There is the possibility of an attack by pirates," and Diijon said, "Sandra is said to be an expert at this. I shall inquire if she would be willing to instruct us while we are in convoy."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 17, 2002: 08:31 (GMT)  
Terra, London, The Leaky Cauldron:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You're a Gryff, Longbottom, so we'll make it simple," Bella said, as he took a seat at their table. She cast a privacy spell, "You need money. We need money. The colonies need passive defenses against predatory animals. You know plants. Frank has an in with Wayne and the Guard, so we have a market. We know irontip bushes do well on other planets."

"Too bloody right they do," Frank added. "The problem with them is that there's a gap of three or four inches between the ground and where the branches start, a wee beastie can get through. Right now, they're planning on using razor wire."

"That's ugly, and expensive," Bella said. "Plants are better, preferably something that can suck in the small ones and trap them, kill them." She pointed, "That's where you come in. You know plants, and I, for my sins, will be representing you in negotiations."

Neville looked at her warily (at least he had put away his wand), "Why you?"

Frank sighed, "Y' don' negotiate wi' a Slytherin wi' out a Slytherin o' y' own, laddie. Didn't McGonagall teach y' anything? Y'd be negotiatin' wi' Miss Wayne, an' while she's a bonnie lass, she's a bloody shark. Bella's y' shark, laddie."

"Face it, Longbottom, you need money to live on. You can't keep living at your Gran's, she's going to pass on eventually. The Ministry is on another cost-cutting move, they may decide not to pay for your parents' care at St. Mungo's." Bella leaned forward, "I put them there, so I feel a certain amount of responsibility. Licensing this plant to the Guard will give both of us a nice, steady income stream."

Neville regarded the two Slytherins. While he knew, and had coached Frank on Herbology, he didn't trust Bellatrix' turnaround, even if she seemed to be honest about making things up. "What do you get out of it, Frank?"

"Aside from protectin' some people I care about from nasty wee beasties?" he replied. "I pay off a family debt, an' that's between th' Blacks an' th' MacDonalds, laddie. Naught tae do wi' Clan Longbottom, dinnae worry aboot it."

Neville nodded, he understood clan debts, and put out his hand. "Deal." The three of them shook and he said, "Bloodvine would work for your ground cover, it smells of fresh blood and grows about four inches high, then it strangles its prey."

"Excellent!" Frank said. "Nae, who owns th' rights tae th' bloodvine an' irontip bush?"

Neville blinked. Patent a plant? "Nobody, as far as I know." The two Slytherins looked at each other, then laughed. He looked at them, and Bella smiled. He knew that smile, and was somewhat nervous. "Longbottom, we need to be absolutely sure on this, but if, IF that's true, it's a bloody license to coin gold."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, July 18, 2002: 07:28 (GMT) (Seconday, 24 Quintus, 162: 07:15)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's complex, Plans office:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Charlie read over the email he had received from Sprink, aboard the _Nevis_. He had already started crafting his reply, but as this letter was both business and personal, he had cut and pasted the business sections after he printed a copy. He leaned forward, his chair's legs thumping as he reached for his highlighter, it squeaked yellow on the page.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Can I have your attention for a moment?" he asked his small staff, and people looked up from their work. He waved his copy of the email; "I got a letter from my girlfriend aboard the _Nevis_. Leaving out the personal bit, which I am NOT sharing with you lot again..." there were groans and a few wisecracks. Her last letter, like this one a mixture of business and personal, he had made the mistake of posting on the office bulletin board.

"Right-o. I learn from my mistakes (there was a groan), so I've put that out into two sections. We've got two projects." Charlie turned to his lead 'architect', "Lamon, besides the frosty blokes' planet, we've gotten a long-term lease on a trade planet. It's a class ten, called P'wheel, and our contract only gives us a year to get everything built." He moved to a whiteboard, drawing a quick sketch. Pointing to the circle, "I know I'm not in your class when it comes to art, forgive me. I won't go into the routing, but P'wheel, which is in this cluster, the M7. It's got a bunch of fairly young stars, about eighty of them."

"However, what we need to do is get some planning done." He checked his printout, then continued, "While I'm at my meeting, what I'd like you lot to do is some preliminary plans. P'wheel is an island planet, what they do is lease islands for trade. Now, I don't have photos or anything yet, just what she told me. (He waved one of the printouts.) She'll have those when she returns in a few weeks. It's roughly oval island, east-west in the long dimension, about fifty square kilometers total, so figure a size of ten by five kilometers. It's got a good size lagoon to the south, the landmass is the northern two-thirds, so figure ten by three." He drew an oval island with a roughly oval blue area to the south. As he drew, he said, "There's a range of hills to the north and west here, maybe two or three hundred meters high, they take up roughly the western third, sloping down as they go from west to east along the northern side."

He continued to sketch, "I'm guessing this was a volcanic island, there are apparently hundreds of these islands. Our island has one river, it starts in the southeast, then travels northeast along the hills with various lakes and such, before entering the lowest hills, curving along the flattest parts before emptying into the lagoon here." He drew a blue lake, then changed markers and drew a dam south of the lake, with a grey 'city' area at the river's mouth. "There was a previous site there, she couldn't find out precisely the reason they left. There's a hydropower installation here, upriver from what is a small settlement here, at the mouth. I don't know what the capacity is, so let's figure on installing one of those small, safe reactors here, north of the town. Better too much power capacity then not enough."

"Very true, master," one of the few male slaves said. The 'engineers nest' had been moved here for security, and he asked, "Standard dam and retention lake?"

"I don't know," Charlie replied. "If there is, it's minimal. As an option, we may need to plan on raising the dam. There was apparently a seasonal power problem, which could be why the original colony was abandoned. However, we can probably use the river for cooling the reactor." He drew in some circles, "She did say there was water and sewer plants here, although we don't know what shape this is in. Figure on underground utilities, like power lines, water and sewer pipes. They're more expensive, but they look a lot better, and they're protected."

"Bridges, master?" another engineer asked.

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know, she didn't say. I'll ask about roads and such. We'll need to work up a list of questions to send back to her. For now, assume that our trade port is here, at the southern part of the settlement. Figure water as well as air and orbital transport, and we'll need long term as well as temporary warehouses, storage areas for things we can leave outside, as well as container handling equipment and facilities. Leave lots of room for expansion. She said there was housing here and here (he drew a few stick-figure houses), but she didn't say anything about storm shelters." He looked at his designers, "Plan on some underground shelters if they don't already exist. We can put things like schools and recreation centers over them."

"Yes, master," Lamon said.

Charlie nodded once, then turned back to the whiteboard, using the black marker, "These are barrier reefs enclosing the lagoon, although I don't know how deep it is. It's part of our lease, though, so plan on the port being right on the water." He changed to a green marker, "Farms and crops, orchards and such, but we can build those up into the hills to the west and northwest."

"The Source has blessed us in that we do not have to start from bare ground," T'asi said.

Shaking his head, Charlie replied, "We don't know how much of what is there is usable. Assume none is, you can probably copy over the plans for some of the agricultural stations." He checked the clock, "I've got my meeting in a few minutes, and so I'd like to see at least a sketch or three when I get back, please." His crew nodded as he passed one of the highlighted printouts over, "Lamon, your usual crew, you've got ground-side, T'asi, you've got the challenging one. Ready?"

"Me, master?" she squeaked.

"You. I have confidence in you. We need an orbital ore refinery station to accompany the existing cargo station. Let's do it right, and make it a modular station, so we can build standard parts and assemble as we need them. Each module will need to fit in a heavy-lift shuttle's cargo bay, so we can build either on the ground or in space. Ten by twenty by forty meters, and yes, that means lots of smaller modules to make larger ones. We'll need to have these modules assembled by minimally trained workers, so something they can just plug and bolt together." T'asi swallowed, and Lamon said, "I can..."

"You can assist, Lamon, but it's T'asi's project," Charlie said. He turned back, "I'd start with making a list of common modules. For quarters, it would need to be pressurized and insulated with gravity, and remember, people will be living in them, so we want them looking nice. You might come up with a few different layouts of the rooms for different numbers of people, but with common connections for waste disposal, plumbing, power, and so forth. Remember, those will need servicing, so you might have living modules back on a service module. Don't forget lights and places for service people to connect tools." He gestured with his hands. "Power and utility cores can be structural steel with pipes and cables. Warehouses and equipment bays will be either pressurized or not. You might want to build a simple wall with light, power and gravity. Make it strong, though, in case it has to support equipment."

He moved to a different whiteboard, "Let's assume two hundred people on the station. Not only cargo handlers, but we also make it nice, a pleasant place to live. Gardens so they're an emergency food and oxygen source. Figure fifty square meters of plants per person, I'm thinking something like this." He sketched, "A central core shaft for in-station transport, utilities and such, then a habitat ring around it. Below it, warehouse modules, pressurized and not, in the center, with cargo handling in between and docking to the outside."

"We can use that for our stations here in system," one designer said.

"Exactly," Charlie agreed. "For things like handling bulk ore, and processing it, you can simply build a box around it with the wall units. You'll need docking modules, which is another standard unit; as well as control modules and docks for orbital tugs. Don't forget service bays as another standard unit, you'll need to maintain and repair tugs and other small craft." He went back to his main sketch, "Down here at the bottom of the core module, we place the reactors for power. Use the simple modular ones so we can change them out as needed."

He slapped the second highlighted printout on T'asi's drawing board, then thought for a minute, "I think that has it. Start with the list of modules, then the common connectors. Assume the people putting them together are drunken idiots, defensive design. Colour coding, different arrangement of connecting pins, that type of thing. Any questions?"

"One last question, master," Lamon asked. "Headcount on the ground."

"Maybe two thousand?" he shrugged. He checked the time, "One last thing. Each island and it's associated station run on their parent's laws, so we won't have slaves, but others might. I'll see what we can do about people from here settling there if anyone's interested." He checked the time, then disappeared into his office to grab what he needed. "I'll be back in an hour or so, get me some questions, and some rough sketches, please," and he tried to open the door with his hands full, someone got it for him.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

A window popped open on Christine's screen, '_Five minutes to weekly public meeting: Conference room_'. Fumbling with the mouse, she closed the popup, then returned to her memo that she was three-finger typing. '_I need to remember and ask Charlie what the red and green squiggles are below the words_,' she told herself. Stretching, she visited the washroom, brushing out her hair, and donning the longer white over-robe. With the warm climate, she normally wore only a short smock and shorts, but as this was a business meeting... She picked up her things, only to remember at the last second and rush back to save and lock her screen. She looked at the keyboard, '_I'm jealous how quickly some people can type_,' she thought, then walked out her office door. "I'll be in the conference room," she told her secretary, who replied "Yes, mistress."

"Good morning, everyone," Christine said as she swept into the conference room. She paused to set her things down at her place, then squinted and adjusted the blinds on the large window. "Mr. Adams, I'd like to get one of these picture setups in my office, please. I want to be able to see and talk to anyone in either system."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll look into it. Could you pencil me in under 'New Business', I've received an email from Sprink and the _Nevis_."

"Certainly," the System Governor said, and made a note. She looked up at the four screens hanging over the conference table. "I received a call from Arthur's First Slave, Miika. He is resting and being treated for his injuries, he asked that we not call unless it was urgent." She smiled faintly, "They are apparently very protective of their new master." She tapped the table; "We now have four of the five Ministries under our control. Let's start with Security. Mr. Gruber?"

"Ja," he said, and checked his own notes. "We have complete control over the Security Ministry, and over the orbiting station and the cruiser. In speaking with Herr Burnet, we believe it is time to move on to Phase Two."

"Just for the people watching in High Town," Charlie said, "Perhaps we should elaborate. Open government and all?"

"Ja," Hans said. "Phase two is an examination of both emergency laws passed by the Elders since the Plague, and if they still apply, and also the implementation of voting rights to free persons."

"That got a reaction, masters," T'ara said from High Town, where she monitored the public view screens. She popped open a window, where they could see people near the teashop on the High Street. There was a lot of discussion going on in the crowd, she minimized it as Christine said, "And they're going to have a lot to talk about. Let's elaborate, please. Mr. Adams, voting rights?"

"Yes, ma'am. Simply put, both free males and females, over the age of fifteen, will be able to vote. This is similar to our other colonies; there is a series of marks to hit toward full independence and a planetary legislature. These include civil rights, education, medical care, and so forth. I'll proceed on with the judicial, if that's all right, ma'am."

Christine waved her hand, and Charlie continued, "The original Sandur legal code, as brought from the home world, had slavery as part of the judicial process. Now, Terra does not have legal slavery, we lock up our criminals. However, on a colony world, we can understand how that would be a drain on very scarce resources. What we will be proposing, once everyone that is eligible is registered to vote, is a revision of the legal code, especially those who are currently judicial slaves. For instance, T'ara, you're wearing a judicial collar."

"Yes, master. I was sentenced to thirty years for smuggling, and given credit for being kidnapped as a free female and collared."

"So what would happen to her, as a judicial slave, is that her ownership would first be transferred to the System Governor's office. This would allow us to control her treatment; there have been too many cases of judicial slaves being abused by private owners. The second step for T'ara would be a review of her case by either Governor Sullivan, or Lieutenant Governor Castellano," Charlie said. "They would decide, based on the evidence, to let her existing sentence stand, reduce it, extend it, or annul it. They would go on the severity of her crimes, her behavior, and what she might say in her own defense. Too many were convicted without being able to speak for themselves."

"And that got another reaction, master," T'ara said. "I like what I'm hearing, please continue."

"Now, I don't think this next step would apply to T'ara, as she's been free, but it would to other slaves. We will say, for now, that T'ara's conviction is annulled, and she moves to a common collar." On the screen, Charlie interlaced his fingers, resting his chin. "The second step is to prepare a slave for her freedom. This is so she can make her own decisions, negotiate her own contracts, buy her own food and supplies like clothing, arrange for her own shelter. We will negotiate, for her, an apprenticeship in a trade, as people may know, we are opening up the mainland for colonization, and we will need a lot of help."

"In addition to the orbital factories, the mines in the asteroid belts and on the moons, there's supplying them with food, building ships and stations in orbit, all of which we'll need people to think for themselves. Not simply say, 'Yes, master'." Christine said. "Once you feel you're ready, and you've completed your apprenticeship, you can ask me for your freedom, and I'll grant it. You'll have a dark collar, but unfortunately, you would probably still be wearing a collar," and she tapped her own.

"If you decide you want a dark collar early," Benni Castellano said from the screen, "We'll do that, but you'd be in breach of contract, both with us, and with whoever you're learning a trade from."

"Can I get my ship back?" T'ara asked.

"Possibly," Christine said. "We may charter you as an official government mail boat, though, instead of as a smuggler. We'd have to do a refit, and you'd negotiate a mortgage with us for that refit and your operating costs." She turned to regard the screen, "Anyone who has passed the appropriate training would be eligible to claim an asteroid and start mining it. You would negotiate a mortgage, like T'ara, for supplies and equipment. Like any loan, it would need to be paid back, and we would require regular safety and health inspections from the Trade Ministry." She turned, "Mr. Burnet, what is the status there?"

"Relatively bloodless," he said. "We are in negotiations to buy out Elder Zuunti and his Ministry of Information. When we do so, I plan to merge the two."

The goblin banker tented his fingers, then continued, "We had not discussed the Enhanced slaves; I have made a rather unpleasant discovery. Apparently, Baasht and the other Elders had purchased a quantity of Enhanced slaves to supplement the existing computer installations. These are a particular type, designed to integrate into a computer network, and I have discussed with Mr. Pennyworth the purchase of hardware to replace them. We cannot simply unplug them, not only would it crash the Elder's computer network, it would damage their minds, if not kill them. We must do a phased installation, and while we are doing so, repair and extend the networks, not only on the planet, but in orbit as well." He motioned on the screen, "That accounts for the majority of computer equipment in my budget request, to replace those hundred and sixty slaves with non-living equipment."

"Out of a total of one hundred eighty two Enhanced slaves on planet?" Charlie asked. He added, "Just because a girl's in a judicial collar doesn't mean she's a criminal."

"Speaking of collars," Christine said. "Will we recollar those local slaves? I don't want to have two classes of slaves, with and without a galactic collar."

"Another question might be for the misdemeanor crimes, do we collar them?" Benni Castellano asked. "We'll need to track them, so we might just do what we're doing for the captured Blacks, the Council Guard; a tracking collar. A full-up galactic collar for the felony and capital prisoners."

"I think that's only fair, but using a color different than orange for the smocks, please," Mr. Burnet said. "That hurts my eyes."

"It's supposed to be obnoxious," Benni replied, to chuckles. "Why not pink, with the same blue and green lights. Anyway, how many are we talking about?"

"Those are all paper records," Herr Gruber said. "They need a proper database, and what about the 'born slaves' (he finger-quoted)? They are already with a master, what do we do about that relationship?"

"Legally, those go back to that 'Mother's Sin' law, don't they? Why don't we..." Charlie started to say.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"All right, moving on to new business," Christine said. "Mr. Adams, it looks like you've got both items on today's docket."

"Yes, ma'am," Charlie replied, reaching down into his bag and extracting a stuffed animal. "One of the Blacks is an excellent seamstress, she made up several of these. This is accurate sizing and coloration of a Wabbit, but it is a little light. This is only about a kilo, the actual beastie is about five or six kilos."

"It's... not cute." Christine said, examining it.

"No, it's not. It's an ambush predator, and it's rather aggressive," he told the camera. "This is for those people watching who may be considering signing up to colonize the continent with us. The Wabbit..." he waved the stuffed animal, "... throws poisoned quills from the end, here, of its tail. The poison is extremely rapid, death is within five to ten seconds." He took a drink of water, "The Wabbit is immune to its own poison, and can regenerate the quills, we do have a rough ballistics envelope. A range of about three meters laterally in a two hundred thirty degree arc, and about one to one-point-five meters high. It is not the only predator on the continent, but it is the most widespread, and the fastest breeding. The litters we've seen from our captured specimens are from six to eight young."

"Joy," Herr Gruber said from the screen. "What else?"

"They don't like electricity, but they do tunnel," Charlie added. "They will hibernate during part of the winter, they don't like tropical or semi-tropical heat. The deepest chambers and the associated tunnels we've seen them dig is about a meter or so deep. The wabbits hunt in packs, they will leave their dens during winter only to hunt."

Charlie took a sip of his tea, "We haven't come up with an economic benefit to us; they're actually a threat. The hexapod centaurs can smell them, so I would use them as bird dogs as they're hitched in a team to a wagon. The hexapods are comfortable with using spears and lances, so our design of the wagon hitch gives them a place to store a four or five meter aluminum lance. They can also be trained in acceptable behavior, this is something we want to standardize."

He took another sip of tea, "If we can use them to detect the wabbits, the drivers can kill them. In addition, once an area is of interest to us, we can sanitize it by installing an electric fence with a mowed and plowed 'death strip' of about six meters to either side, that can be done with current equipment." He showed a sketch of his proposed barrier, a concrete footing, block wall to support the fence, with coils of razor wire laid on top of the footing. "If we plow down two meters and across six, that should prevent any tunnels, as the dirt will collapse atop the tunnels. The gravel path is for anyone that wants to ride the barrier and inspect it. The razor wire and concrete atop the footings force any tunnels to the surface, it would also be electrified."

"This reminds me of the Inter-German Border," Herr Gruber said. "We would still need access through the barrier for roads and vehicles."

"Regular farm gates that close fairly snugly, so they can't get through," Charlie replied. "Another coil of razor wire to sweep, with clear plastic panels so we can see what's on the other side."

"It's ugly, and it does remind me of a prison camp," Christine said. "Are there other options?"

Charlie hesitated, "Do you remember Frank MacDonald?" he asked. "He's working with some other people to develop the irontip bushes into a barrier. I got a message from him, they're working to resolve some legal issues, which is why I didn't bring it up." He turned, "The irontip is a bush that I was thinking we could use around pastures and fields, it has some long thorns, and to cover the gap at the base, Frank's suggested another plant, called bloodvine. It smells like a fresh kill, so it attracts predators like the wabbit, it then coils around the wabbit and kills it. I don't think the wabbit's poison would affect a plant, but we have no way to test at the moment. It would definitely be preferable, both plants grow rapidly, and Frank used the irontips as shonnen barriers, so they're definitely strong. We could build gates with concrete or brick to anchor the farm gates. I would still plow the death strips, though."

He took a sip of tea, "Getting back to the wabbits, as I said, we have no economic use for them, we can't eat them, they're a pest," Charlie continued. "They also have a postmortem reflex, so they're dangerous even after they're dead. What we suggest is using a clipper on the tail." He reached down again, pulling up what looked like a branch trimmer. "The tail is the dangerous part. Once you've shot a wabbit, you use one of these, and we have extension tubes you can screw in, to reach over and cut off the tail." With a rip of Velcro® he separated the tail from the body, then re-attached it and screwed together the clipper, positioning it at the base of the tail. "These are simple enough to manufacture, a strong, spring loaded blade with a wired trigger and cocking mechanism. You can also use the end to pick up the head and body, we're thinking a bounty system."

"It won't eliminate them," Benni said from the screen.

"We'd need a species-specific poison to do that," Charlie agreed. "The wabbits are both grassland and woodland predators, but Riverside seems out of their temperature range, and they generally hibernate in winter. What we're looking to do is to keep them out of our farms and shops, because even a tiny scratch from a quill will make you sick, and if it draws blood, you're dead, so we're looking to prevent penetration of a millimeter diameter quill." He took a sip of tea, "We looked back at the middle ages body armor, protection against arrows. If we make chain mail loops small enough to stop a quill, it becomes fairly rigid, and since this is what you'd be wearing day-to-day, we want it both inexpensive and flexible. We also want airflow to keep you cool. Now, it's possible that a shopkeeper won't need this if they're certain their area is secure, but we'd like to make it available. This is what we're calling scale armor." He reached down to his bag, "A breathable cotton under-layer, on top a heavier weave material like denim, and an overlapping series of small, stamped aluminum plate. The plates are arranged like roofing shingles, sewn onto an overall. This can be overlain with a slick material like Tyvek®."

"Hmm," Christine said, playing with the sample. "Why not a tighter stitch, or rivets?"

"A tighter stitch makes the material more rigid, a looser stitch gives flexibility, and rivets drive up the cost," he replied. "Heavy thread can be repaired in the field, and costs a lot less." He picked up the sample, "The people on-line can't see it, but the top, bottom, and sides of each plate has two small holes, which are rounded as part of the production stamping. This keeps abrasion from cutting the thread, which simply goes in one hole and out the other."

"It seems kind of awkward to wear armor while you're in your house or shop," Benni said from the screen.

"This explains why we've seen stable doors on buildings and porches with raised ground floors," Charley replied. "Wabbits tunnel, but they can't climb. A stable door allows you to keep the lower half closed, while you can look out the top, and raising the ground floors allows people to go up a step or two, but is a barrier to wabbits. Should you see one, you can shoot it, we have pistol ammunition that is like a small shotgun shell, good out to five or six meters, called rat-shot."

"When you leave the house or shop, you can pull on the overalls, and have a shotgun or rifle," Benni nodded. "What about things like plowing fields, or grazing?"

"The wabbit likes to aim at the thinner skin of the belly, which is why the shonnen are pretty much immune, their hides are too thick. Wabbits are ambush hunters, so they won't have any cover in a pasture. If we plant the irontip and bloodvine bushes, like French hedgerows, and plow around the edges of a field, we can let animals graze. For the wagons, simple aluminum or ceramic plates to protect the drivers. We can make the scale armor to fit, and make the harnesses and hitches to hang a flexible curtain around the horses or hexataurs pulling the wagons." Charlie took a sip of tea. "We haven't done as much with the hexataurs as we have with the shonnen or the wabbits, but they can be voice-trained like horses, even though they aren't very bright."

"Are they intelligent, Mr. Adams?"

"No. While they use simple tools, they're omnivores, but meat is more of a treat or reward. They like jerky; it's like chewing gum to them. While the harness that they use normally binds their hands back, they can be trained to bind themselves, and associate the driver's release as 'You are now allowed to use a stick.' In addition, from notes the previous settlers left, gelding the males reduces their aggression tremendously. We're training them to operate simple latches, like we would use for the farm gates." He took a sip of tea, "The previous settlers physically mated the animals; we can use artificial insemination, tracking their genetics with breeding software and stud books." He took another sip of tea, "I apologize; that's a rather long-winded description of passive defenses against the wabbits. Active defenses are training everyone, and I do mean everyone, in shooting these nasty little buggers."

"Everyone, master, even the slaves?" T'ara asked.

"Yes. They would carry at least a pistol for use against wabbits," Charlie said.

"If you thought giving the vote to females got a reaction, master..." an awed T'ara said, "This... oh, Source! Give them a minute, please." She enlarged the screen, and they watched the arguing people on the High Street.

"Cover your ears, everyone," Charlie said; then gave a sharp whistle. "People! Can I finish?" He waited a minute, "Yes, you heard right. Think about it. They may be wearing a collar, but don't they have the right to defend themselves against a predator?"

They watched the argument take off again, and again Charlie whistled. On screen, T'ara pulled off her earphones, shaking her head, "Be glad you're not hearing this, masters." She scrubbed at her ears; then gingerly put the headphones back on, jerking them off. "Masters, I think you won't be able to complete the agenda today. They're not paying attention, they're too busy arguing."

They waited, then Herr Gruber said, "I think Fraulein T'ara is correct, I suggest we adjourn for now."

"Seconded," Charlie said, and the meeting was closed.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, July 18, 2002: 11:22 (relative)  
Sector 2820, Red Dawn system:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The warship fired a barrage of missiles at them, and Amber, whose ring-constructs tended to be simple geometric forms, deployed a 'scoop', which deflected them back to the ship. The cruiser shifted, firing its main weapon at Mattie as the missiles struck. With a thought, she generated a series of mirrors that redirected the beam; it emerged from a beam-splitter, causing massive damage in the ship's aft sections. They both landed on the ship, walking along the hull toward the ship's 'island', stopping to talk as they stood on the window of the command deck.

The commander looked on in frustration as the two Lanterns stood on the glass a few meters away, ignoring him as they talked. Their auras extended through the glass, the furry one waved a paw as she said (Truly this one regrets summoning you from your male's side.) As she spoke, a large Lantern logo carved itself into the white coating of his hull, while the smaller female shook her head, replying "Don't worry about it," as she idly drew an oval around the symbol on his hull. She added, "Go see your clan-mothers, I'll deal with the pirates and meet you shortly." The furry one flew off, while the female turned to regard the commander. "Open the personnel hatch, please."

He turned, "Go ahead, open the hatch for her," he ordered.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hello, commander," she said as she was escorted into the command deck. She was a small being with black hair in a complex weave, with two patches of white hair over her ears. "Please put me on a common link to the other ships." He waved, and it was done. "Now then, you're going to transfer all your wounded and all the slaves to the colony ship, and all free personnel will go to a small island off the eastern-most continent. Map, please," she asked, and indicated which one. "For now, you're denied space capability, but bring a radio capable of reaching any ships your sponsors might send. Local law gives the decision on what to do with you to the local clan-mothers. Leave the three ships in orbit linked with the boarding tubes and tractors, and you can bring light personal arms to deal with the hostile local wildlife." She smiled at him, "I'm claiming your slaves; so I do hope they're in good condition. Any questions?"

"Our dead?" he asked.

"Give them a proper burial, of course. I'll be searching the ship myself, so I'll help get anyone out of damaged compartments and send them over to the colony ship. What were you looking to get out of this planet?"

"Timber and sport-hunting for the high-end market," he said sourly. "Probably sell some animals to private collectors and planetary zoos. Who knew the tree-dwelling primitives had a Lantern?"

"Perhaps your sponsors should have done better research," she replied. "I'll speak to you later."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

She flew escort to the collection of shuttles and other small craft that carried the pirate crews of the three ships to the island. After they grounded, her Ring removed the drive coils from the heavy cargo shuttle while the hundred or so pirates disembarked.

"Here's the situation," she told the pirates who stood in the sand outside their small craft. "You attacked the locals, Amber and I offered you a chance to surrender. Two of your ships did, one decided to put up a fight."

"And lost," one pirate replied. "By the Source, how were we to know a bunch of tree-dwelling barbarians had a frakkin' Lantern?"

"Maybe by asking politely to do business instead of kicking the door in?" Mattie replied, 'sitting' in mid-air. "Amber is meeting with her clan-mothers now to decide what to do with you. For now, I'm going to build you some quick defenses to protect you against the wildlife." She gestured at three of the local 'raptors' which lay decapitated on the sand. "If you had done your research, you'd know that they come in much larger sizes."

There was a loud, high-pitched scream from the jungle, and Mattie clapped her hands. "Strip the one shuttle of survival gear, leave the radios and beacons intact so your sponsors can find you here. The other small craft return to their ships."

"Noooo!" one pirate screamed, charging at her with a knife. "You're going to kill us all!" With a thought, he was flipped, thudding to the sand. "That means I trust you lot even less," Mattie told the pirates.

"Why don't you go ahead and collar us now?" one blue-haired female pirate asked.

"I don't sell people like a filthy slaver," she said. "You want me to build your fort, you'll do what I say."

"Why do you say that about slavers?" another pirate asked. "It's a perfectly respectable profession."

"When the courts get pirates and smugglers they enhance them," the blue-haired female said. "Better security, and they sell for a higher price. Is that what you're going to do with us?" She regarded the floating Lantern.

"Not my decision, but the clan-mothers. They usually deal with their law-breakers by breaking their climbing claws and putting them on the ground. I want to see your engineers." The blue-haired female pirate snorted and went off to fetch them, while others watched several massive trees float out of the forest, and blades of green light started to trim and shape them.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That should do for now, but I'm not a civil engineer," Mattie said.

"Neither are we," one of the pirate engineers said. "Still, I can't think of anything else without modern weapons."

"Which we're not going to get," another said. "We'll find out. Look!" A mid-size monster had come out of the jungle and had been forced by a series of sharpened stakes to confront one of a series of deep, wood-lined pits dug into the beginnings of the sandbar that connected the island to the mainland. Along with the thirty-meter monster was a pack of a dozen or so two-meter 'raptors', like the three that had originally been on the island, and that were now being roasted behind them. A louder roar sounded behind the mid-size beast. It panicked and ran toward the far-right pit, slipping and falling into it with a squeal, which turned into a shriek of agony.

"What's in the pits?"

"Sharpened vertical stakes, called punji sticks in the bottom, more in the sides pointing downward so they can't climb out," Mattie replied.

"Nasty," an engineer said with a shudder. "Why not one big pit, though?"

"The pits serve as a filter to catch the big monsters, like that one," she replied, as a fifty-meter monster emerged and roared. It put its head down and charged, and a counterweighted trip-bar sprang out of the sand, the monster sliding headfirst into the outer row's center pit. While the trip reset, the monster roared its rage, head and neck trapped in the pit, lying on the sand. The smaller raptors, not passing up a free meal, attacked, the monster roaring and trying to get up. It lacked sufficient leverage, and several raptors leaped on the legs, biting through the tendons. As they watched from the tower of the wooden fort, she added, "Any of the smaller ones that make it past the pits won't get past the wall, and you have firing slits you can use to shoot them."

"And that's only the first line of defenses," one of the engineers said. "We've got this fort here."

"For now," she replied. "Anything you want me to tell the clan-mothers in your defense? You want to elect someone to speak for you?"

The pirates looked at each other, "Please don't Enhance us?"

"Not my call," she replied. "You may want to decide who wants to risk a collar, and who wants to wait out any possible rescue attempt from your sponsors. You know them better than I do. Those who stay might want to get started on the gardens, you can't live on just meat." She waited a minute more, then shrugged and lifted off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie removed her video camera from the little dimensional pocket she used, and flew generally toward Amber's Ring location along a broad river, slowly capturing the scenery and recording the wildlife, swerving once as a water-monster tried to eat her. She turned, flying up a secondary river, heading toward the cliff and surrounding trees that the small settlement of Wookies fought to maintain against the monsters they lived among. A final, snapping attack of a large carnivore, and she stowed the camera, making herself presentable.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"... So far, the largest problems for the colony have been the occasional pirate, the greedy locals, and dealing with freeing the slaves," Mattie said, once again 'sitting' cross-legged in midair. Gesturing to the Ring-created model of Windfall, "The single continent is heavily forested, although the trees are not as high as they are here. There are some local predators, my information is slightly out-of-date, though."

(We would have our own fields, our own property?) one of the clan-mothers asked.

"You may, although I would hope that you would join us in a larger community," she replied. "While we have orbital settlements in the home system, this is our first off-planet colony. To guard against crop problems, we are placing several smaller research locations, sponsored by schools on the homeworld. They will determine if there are any hazards in the local soils or water that would affect our crops and farm animals." She gestured, "You are welcome to share in those efforts, or to create a separate site of your own. If we share, however, it lessens the risk for both of us."

(Truth, this is. What else?)

"As I've said, we do not believe in the buying and selling of sentient beings. We have started a rescue and resettlement program for slaves, to allow them to think outside their collars, to stand and be free again. Most of those are females, hotel slaves, they are killed when they are at a certain age, fed live to beasts." (She gestured out of the meeting-hole, where the roars could be heard.) "They are bound, helpless, and thrown as food for captive beasts." The clan-mothers reacted in shock, and Mattie continued, "We buy them on the pretext that they will be sacrificed to the Source, instead, and train them to think for themselves. They are not killed."

(Even when we sentence one to the ground, they are not bound, they may run and hide as they can,) one clan-mother said in disgust. (To condemn a being only on the basis of age, and then to hobble them is not the action of a civilized being. We will wish to see, to speak to these females, but your Ring-sister speaks well of your people.) She made the circle of the Source herself. (To speak falsely is a step back along the Source's path. The Source demands honesty, it is truth, but to spare the life of an innocent, and to assist them are both steps forward along the path. You commit a small sin in the goal of a greater good; it is true.)

"When we reach there, you may speak to whomever you wish," Mattie said. She accepted the skin of wine, taking a pull, and passing it on, "This brings up another point regarding the pirates. Several have asked about submitting as slaves, they fear for their lives on this planet." There was some amused hooting, she smiled and continued. "While this is your system and your laws prevail, I am ethically opposed to buying and selling intelligent beings. While I have built temporary defenses until their sponsor sends a rescue ship, they are just that, temporary." There was more hooting, she continued, "These pirates are career criminals, they believe their chances of survival better to wear your collar than to be eaten."

(Wiser, they are), a clan mother said. (What uses have we with slaves? They gave honorable surrender; we must therefore protect them, criminals though they be. What plans have you?)

"As I said, we are building an offworld colony, the ship they planned to use to transport you as slaves would therefore be useful. It would need to be refit to carry passengers instead of slaves, but that was its original design. The pirates simply converted the passenger quarters to slave cells; we can convert them back. They are livable, if not comfortable until then." The clan mothers rocked and hooted in agreement, passing a wineskin around again. "The second ship is a warship, a destroyer-class ship. This would also be useful protection against other groups of pirates until we can join a convoy. I would strip the damaged ship of what we can, leaving it in orbit as a warning. I saw you have some orbital works..."

(Not as many,) Amber hooted. (The pirates destroyed some, they did. That is when you arrived.)

"Hmm," Mattie said, accepting the wineskin again. She took a shot and passed it to the clan-mother to her left. "I propose this," she suggested. "You accept those pirates that wish to become slaves with us, on probation. We will collar them, not as slaves, but as prisoners, with only the tracking and pain functions enabled in their collars. Their behavior will earn their destiny. Should they prove honorable, they earn a new life, freedom and citizenship; otherwise they stay in a collar."

(They would take several steps back along the path of the Source,) one clan-mother hooted. (They would need to retrace their path upward along the spiral. Where would this be done?)

"We can do this on our colony world, or a planet we would stop by," she replied. "I have a friend who was looking into a trade port on another world, P'wheel, a class ten trading world. I was planning to stop there to see her. What about the ships?"

(You claim the existing slaves to assist them, and the colony ship would be useful to you,) a clan-mother said. (We will claim those pirates who wish to come with us, as our captives, not slaves. We would also claim the warship, even though we know not how to work it. It is necessary for the defense of our system.)

"Our colony world also requires a security guarantee," Mattie said. "Why not this? We will assist in crewing the warship, with one of your spacers in command, and one of ours as her first officer. The colony world has one light cruiser, a more powerful ship, which is in disrepair. We were planning to take it to our homeworld, take it apart and study it, then build and improve the design with new ships."

(How many new ships?)

"If you participate in our empire, enough to protect your system, your planet and your trade. You do not have to live on the ground; you can establish your people here in orbit. The pirates saw profit in your forests for the high-end, wealthy market, as well as capturing your beasts for private display in zoos. If it is managed correctly, I do not see any reason why you cannot profit from the market, which would help to pay for those ships." She took another slug of the passing wineskin, "The only people on the ground would be the ones harvesting the trees and beasts. Should you choose this path, we can stop at Mangione, a class four world, where you may examine that market."

(Truth, this is,) a clan-mother said. There was some hooting, one clan-mother asked, (What would you charge us to colonize this planet? We know this will cost money.)

"Only what you agree to," Mattie said. "Knowledge is a source of payment, as well. As I said, the continent is heavily forested; you could get by as you are now, living in the trees. I would suggest at least one healer come, we are trying to learn from each other, it would be proper for your healer to be able to treat our people, and for ours to treat your people. Aside from that, you would need defenses against predators, some are small, and hunt from the ground with poison quills. That would be a concern for tending fields of grain, though. However, if you share in our labors, you would share in the benefits. We seek to grow the planet's economy, both through inter-site trade, in orbit and the asteroid belts, and to the wider galaxy."

(Asteroid belts?)

"The colony world has two of them, the inner one large and broad. There is no reason you cannot contribute to orbital works, they need to be built as well, both there, and here in this system." She tented her fingers, resting her chin on them. "There would be three species, ours, yours, and the rescued hotel-girl slaves."

(Along with any other slaves that we pick up,) Amber hooted. (We would need translation implants, but those are not costly.)

"I do have some funds available through Lantern Bank, should you need more than you have available," Mattie said. "This we can arrange, to allow you to build needed funds in your accounts. I owe my Ring-sister a debt, it would be an honor to assist." She took a final slug from the wineskin, "I assume you will retain ownership of this planet. Should you choose to, it gives you a valuable resource."

The clan-mothers looked at each other, (Truth, this is. Allow us privacy for our decision.)

(It is we who owe the debt, Ring-sister. We shall go and look on the others, and return,) Amber said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You are not allowed space capability," Mattie told the hundred or so pirates who stood around the shuttle.

One wrenched away from the others, "I was not permitted to lift," he said. "I do not wish to stay, I do not think our sponsors will come for us. I will cross my wrists," he added, to the derisive calls of the others. He turned, "Better to live a slave than to starve here," he shouted; then dropped to his knees.

(Who else?) Amber called. (Who else will wear our collar? We do not trust you.)

There was a fight that broke out, with screaming and shouting, several broke out of the group. "We will, and there are others, bound in camp, that would cross their wrists," a scarred, tattooed female said. "Let these fools die slowly, I want to live, even in a collar."

"Show me where they are," Mattie said grimly.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie regarded the forty or so prisoners, sitting in the shuttle's seats, hands on their heads. "You will be the locals' prisoners, not slaves," she said. "They have no use for slaves, and I do not buy and sell intelligent beings. You will be collared, but those will only have the location tracking and pain circuits for slave barriers. Your behavior on parole will determine your fate, if you are well-behaved, you may earn your freedom." She gestured to the open shuttle hatch, "If that's not agreeable, there's the hatch."

"We would not be slaves, you are not selling us, even though some of us have bounties on our heads," one pirate said warily. "What's the trick?"

"No trick," she replied. "We don't believe in taking or trading slaves. We would of course keep you secure, but you can earn an honorable name."

"You are not gelding the males, changing them to females?" one skinny fellow said.

"No, I've never understood that," Mattie said. "It doesn't make financial sense to me, you would think males would sell for more, due to scarcity," she said, sitting cross-legged in mid-air.

"You would think so," the skinny pirate agreed. "However, I would not sell as a stud slave, so I would be gelded (he shuddered), and other factors being equal between myself and a female, she would sell for more." He shrugged. "Males are considered more of a threat than females, I assume. I would still run us all through a med-tank, to make certain we are healthy, remove distinguishing tattoos, and if necessary, change the males."

"Females are less of a threat?" the blue haired female snorted. "Females are more decorative, I think." She turned to Mattie, "I'm in, although I think most males that are kept intact are for breeding or other reasons. Those that are usually are held because they are valuable business or political hostages, and none of our males qualify. All other factors being equal, a female will sell better than a male for anything other than heavy labor on farms or in mines."

"Why are you giving me this information?" Mattie asked.

"Self-interest," the skinny pirate said. "While I do not look forward to wearing a collar or being female, it is survivable, this planet is not. Even if you are lying to us, and will sell us as slaves, giving you this information means the higher prices we fetch, the more money you make, and for us, wealthier owners; the better odds of good treatment."

The blue-haired female asked, "Where are we going, mistress? I am, or was, astrogator."

"P'wheel or Mangione, I don't know which is closer."

"P'wheel, mistress," the astrogator replied. "I would wait to sell us until Mangione, though." She nodded to her tattooed arms, "I also assume you are lying to us in order to increase your security," she said. "That is perfectly understandable. You may wish to sell us to the courts, instead of the open market. Some of us have bounties on our heads, you will increase your profits. I only ask for my life."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"They belong to the local clan-mothers," Mattie told the senior recovered slave, once a third officer on a liner. "They are prisoners, treat them professionally, keep them secure, and stripped, but no abuse."

"That will be the most difficult part, mistress, to forgo giving some pain back," the blue-skinned woman said, regarding the young, dark-haired female Lantern that had rescued them. She shook back her white-blonde hair, her collar lights glowing yellow. "We have only about thirty slaves for both ships."

"We need both ships, though," her new mistress said. "Keep stripping the damaged ship, what we don't need we can sell. Do some temporary promotions, and if any slaves are even remotely qualified..."

"I shall take what I can, mistress."

"Good. I need to meet with the clan-mothers. Give the crews some practice in orbital maneuvering, plotting courses, that kind of thing."

"Yes, mistress. Destination?"

"P'wheel then Tosul by way of Mangione." She wiggled her hand, showing the Ring, "I don't usually travel in convoy, but we can join one at either planet. I have a colony between Mangione and Tosul, we can resettle any slaves there. Don't let that out, though."

"Discipline problems, I know," the officer said. "We'll handle it, mistress."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, July 19, 2002: 00:38 (GMT) (Seconday, 24 Quintus, 162: 24:25)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's complex, Plans office:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Working late, master?" a soft voice asked, and Charlie looked up. "No, just replying to my girlfriend's letter, T'asi." He stretched and twisted, bones crackling, "Would you like me to walk you back? I don't think I've mentioned how much I value what you do."

"Perhaps you'll buy me, then," she said, and smiled gently. He saved and locked the laptop, and stood up, twisting again. "You know, you don't have to cross your wrists to us, it seems like..." he paused, "... avoiding the problem, somehow."

She made the circle of the Source with her left hand, "Master, my soul has been blackened by what I have done. I must start again, retrace my steps on the Source's spiral, which means I must go down before I come up again." He opened the door, flicking off the lights and locking the door as she cuffed herself, kneeling and waiting for him in the corridor, "By serving a master as a slave does, I start fresh, as a newborn, free of the crimes of T'asi N'eo. She no longer exists, only the slave. Were I to be bought by even the cruelest master, I would do so, as T'asi N'eo does not deserve to exist, master." T'asi shook back her hair. "Personally, master, this is the preferable of the two options to cleanse my path. I would prefer not to take my own life, but if I am denied the chance to cross my wrists, that would remain my only option."

"And the freedom of the slave who was once T'asi N'eo?" he asked.

She shook back her hair again, "When my soul and the Source are in the same location, master, then I will be free. It may be a day, a month, or years, but it will come." She calmly looked at him, "Master, you Terrans are so interesting, I find myself hoping I might be allowed to cross my wrists to you." She stepped aside, allowing him to precede her across a footbridge, as he asked, "What about those of the Guard who do not wish to cross their wrists?"

"That is between themselves and the Source, master. My only qualification is to protect my family, by becoming only a nameless slave, this will happen. I will miss them, but I have written them, they understand." She stopped at the prison guard post, "Thank you, master, for walking me back." She turned as a guard frisked her, "Go have last-meal, master, before it is gone, and I will see you first light. Pleasant evening, master," and she pushed through the rotating steel barrier.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, July 19, 2002: 11:25 (GMT) (Thirday, 25 Quintus, 162: 11:03)  
Windfall, High Town, Finance Minister's residence, master suite:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Arthur groaned and rolled over, blinking at the faint sunlight through the heavy blinds. Looking up, he saw an ornate ceiling, and he sat up, yawning as memory came back. '_Daala's home. Must be the master bedroom_,' he thought. '_Mine now, but for how long_?' and threw back the covers.

Whoever had put him to bed had dressed him in what he assumed was Daala's nightwear, a long white tunic and some sort of wrap around his waist, and he padded over the fancy wood flooring towards what he assumed was the bathroom. He found it behind the second door, the first leading to a complex closet. In it, he found his travel case, and shaved, showered and brushed his teeth. As he left, he saw Miika setting out his clothes. He knelt, "Good day, master. I hope you are feeling well. I apologize for not being present to bathe you."

Arthur waved that off, "I've been doing that for a long time, now. What's been happening?"

"I have called Mistress Governor Sullivan, explaining that you were resting and healing, and would contact her when it pleased you." He turned as the First Girl came in with a tea tray, nodding as she placed it on a table. She poured him a cup; then knelt besides Miika, "Master will need to mollify his tea and other foods, as we do not do so without specific instructions."

Looking over the assortment of additives, Arthur added a few drops of the native honey, "Why not?"

"That would be considered an attempt to poison master's food," she said. "It would be the same as if I were to strike master, an attack, and would lead to this slave's public, terminal discipline," she said with a shudder. "We have arranged to have master's clothing sent over, and master's business arrangements are waiting in the office for master's pleasure."

"Hold on, I don't have any business," he objected.

Miika cleared his throat, "Master, I am your First Slave, and am responsible for you. I have taken it upon myself to look into master's business arrangements, and the Ministry." He continued, "Master directly owns only this slave, it is truth. However, Mistress Lady Lantern won by fair and honorable public combat from former master Daala his lands, his properties, and his titles. She is Liege Lady for former clan Daala and its properties, now clan Lantern and her properties. In addition, Mistress Lady Lantern won by fair and honorable public combat former master Daala's position as Finance Minister and Grand Councilor, and may thus do as she wishes."

"However, Mattie's not here," Arthur said, sipping his tea.

"This is truth, master," Miika said. "However, I called the Ministry of Justice, and they have told me, and sent appropriate documents, that when Mistress Lady Lantern asked you to 'take care of things for me', and I quote her public statement, that gave you her leave to act in her stead, answerable only to her."

"Therefore, master, we are your slaves in Mistress Lady Lantern's name," the First Girl said. "You may do with us as if we were your property, buying, selling, punishing or whatever pleases you."

"Damn it, I thought I said I didn't want to be called 'Master', I don't like owning people," Arthur said, irritated. "It's not like I'm going to, I don't know, tell Miika to kill or torture you."

"Torture is for free persons, master. We are slaves, and are thus disciplined," Miika said, as the First Girl cuffed herself. "Did you have a preference for her death, or a simple neck-breaking?" he asked as he gripped her head.

"I don't want her killed!" he exclaimed. He motioned the First Girl to her feet and popped open her cuffs, freeing her hands again.

"As you wish, master," Miika said. "There is a slave that is awaiting your discipline, but there are far more important decisions for you to make. Slaves wait upon your pleasure, master, but the Ministry awaits your command, and appropriate documents, both on master's computer and in print, await your decision."

"I'll make the decision on what's important. Who is waiting for discipline?"

"The slave you have named C'ari, master," the First Girl replied. "She confessed to speaking sharply to you, and displeasure at her collar, and has been bound awaiting your discipline."

"Wait, that was... I was talking to her... what day is it? How long ago?"

"This is Thirday, master, the twenty-fifth of Quintus. Master has been sleeping off his injuries since late on the twenty-third, a day and part."

"You've let me sleep for over thirty hours? Damnit, what's been going on?"

"Master was injured, and master's bodyguards agreed that sleep was beneficial." Miika made a dismissive motion, "The slave C'ari can wait for her discipline, master. Far more important is master's business, I have done what I can with master's colleagues, but master must take control of the Ministry." He took a deep breath, "I hope master is not displeased, but to protect master's interests and property, I ordered the Ministry closed in his name." He leaned forward, "Master, I must stress, the slave C'ari can wait, she is slave. You must take the Ministry, this slave once worked there, for former minister Daala."

Arthur regarded Miika, "I don't like this, Miika. Where is the girl?"

"The slave C'ari, master?" the First Girl asked. "She waits in your office, but master, I agree, you must seize control of the Ministry. Do not waste your time with her, it is already too risky to have waited this long, closing the Ministry was necessary. Others have tried to seize control from master's colleagues in other Ministries, the court ruling giving Mistress Lady Lantern will only last so long politically, especially with her not present to enforce it. Master, I repeat, you must, must, have the Finance Ministry, you may bother with trifles like your slaves' discipline in your idle times, they will wait. There has been news that has caused widespread... agitation, and you must destroy yours, and the Empire's enemies first."

"I will bother with whatever 'trifles' I wish," Arthur said forcefully, putting down the teacup. He strode into the office; then shouted, "Miika!"

The First Slave looked at the First Girl, they both rushed in, as one of the German troopers arrived. Arthur pointed where the redheaded slave hung by her wrists, "Are you telling me that she has spent thirty or forty hours hanging there? Get her down, NOW."

Despite his rejection of the term, the first Girl knew an angry master when she heard one. "Yes, master," the First Girl squeaked, rushing to obey. Arthur turned to the trooper, "Why wasn't this handled? Where is your Feldwebel?"

I will call him, Herr Minister," the trooper said. He stepped aside as C'ari was being un-hooded, the over-hood being folded, and moved to the girl. "C'ari, who did this to you?" She looked up at him, the gag still on her mouth, and tapped her chest. "You did?" She whimpered once, then knelt, her forehead to the ground, and cuffed herself. "C'ari, what did you tell me about your collar?" She whimpered in terror, and tried to push herself into the floor. Arthur sighed, and pulled her head up. "C'ari, I meant what I said about that being a private conversation, and we are trying to get you to think free." She whimpered in fear, and he pulled her to her feet, passing her to the trooper. "Make sure she gets medical attention." He regarded Miika with a baleful eye, "This isn't finished yet, Miika, nor with you," he told the First Girl, who swallowed hard. "She had spark, and now she's afraid of her own shadow." His eyes were hard, "What was she told while I was asleep?"

"Master, we... we heard that we were to be sold, the Ministries would be consolidated, and master, we do not wish to be," the First Girl said. "We are only slaves, you may do what you wish, but master, please..." she begged, "Do not sell us!"

"This is the first I've heard of it," Arthur said. "Where did you hear this?"

"Ministry of Information slaves, master," Miika said. "They have the accurate information, as they have the ear of the Council."

"I see. I will confirm or deny this myself, and then inform you." He strode to the only entrance to the suite, "Feldwebel, there was a girl suspended in that office for well over a day. Why was she not taken down when you found out about it?"

"Herr Minister," the German sergeant said, bracing to attention. "We were informed the girl was awaiting your attention, she was watered and had a urinal bottle, and that it was SOP."

"And it did not occur to you, on your own authority, to take her down and seek medical attention for her?"

"Herr Minister, we were informed that the girl was in need of discipline, you were attending to the matter, but had been called away in the interim."

"I was asleep, and who informed you of this?"

"Your majordomo, Herr Minister, the First Slave," the nervous sergeant said.

"I will discuss this with Herr Gruber, Feldwebel," Arthur said. "For now, resume your post, please." He waited until the door clicked shut, then in a low voice, "Miika? You have over-reached yourself, and lied. While I know we haven't known each other long, did our conversation mean nothing to you? Leaving a girl suspended for that long may have been standard procedure for Daala, but not for me. If you believed she was in need of discipline, you could have confined her to a cell and brought the matter up with me later. You are not Minister, nor have I given you any sort of power to act in my name. I am extremely unhappy with you. You are no longer First Slave, Miika," and he nodded to the First Girl. "She is now First Slave as well as First Girl, you will report to her, and I hope that this is a lesson for both of you."

"Yes, master," both slaves said, terrified.

"Now then, what about the Ministry?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur moved to the massive desk where Miika waited. "Master, your first move you may do from here. The computer slaves have delayed as much as possible your enemies' moves, but you must take control. They have given you broad powers, greater than former minister Daala. These sheets are what you must do, starting with your login. Your temporary password is _waterbringer_."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That is all we may do from here, master," Miika said when Arthur finished the list. "Now, master, we must bathe and dress you as a proper Minister, we are only part-way through the list."

"The water is hot, master, and your clothing is laid out," the First Girl said, entering the office. "Please shave again, master."

"While I'm doing that, Miika, I'm still unhappy with you. Confine yourself in a cell near Daala on the lowest level." The unhappy slave left, and Arthur regarded the kneeling First Girl, "He is not to be tortured or disciplined. When you go take care of him remind him of his plan with Daala, and how he can regain some points with me." He motioned her to stand, "You seem awfully anxious to have me as Minister," he said.

"Master, I may be honest with you?" Arthur nodded, "There are several reasons, master. Firstly, you said we might earn our freedom, this is one way for us to do so."

"Now why didn't you remember that with C'ari?" Arthur asked, moving toward the bath, and motioning for her to follow. "Please continue, and there's no need for you to kneel. Stand or sit, as you will."

"Yes, master," she said as she bustled about. "Secondly, master, we are not stupid, even if we are slaves. Assisting you Terrans will, at a minimum, make our lives easier, even if we never gain our freedom. Third, being slave of a Minister is far preferable to being slave of a baker or shoe-maker." She started to kneel, then caught his glance, and stood, nervously, her hands behind her. "A day ago, master, while you slept, there were public broadcasts of a meeting that have stirred up great discussion," she said. "Firstly, there was the news that you planned to allow free females the vote."

"Yes," he said over the noise of the shower. "On the homeworld, convicted criminals lose the right to vote, but others, male and female have that right." The fog from the shower was causing her thin slave smock to stick to her skin; there was a light sheen of perspiration on her forehead. "I won't inflict my singing on you, count yourself lucky," he said, he seemed to be in a better mood.

"And those females would be allowed to own property, master?"

"Yes, but property ownership would not be a requirement to hold the vote," he said. The water shut off, and she moved to hand him a towel. "Turn around please, I'm a bit modest." She smiled to herself, "Yes, master," and resumed cleaning, drying the mirrors, he didn't realize that she could get a nice view of her master. He continued, his words slightly muffled, "A property restriction means that only those with a certain amount of property can vote, and denies everyone else the vote. What we haven't figured out yet is how to handle the forty-five thousand or so girls like you in common collars. Do we give you the vote while you're slaves, or free you temporarily, or what?"

"Master?" She goggled at him. "Giving the vote to slaves?"

"Judicial slaves will have their cases reviewed to see if the criminal charges are legitimate. Someone like C'ari would probably have all charges against her dismissed, moving her to a common collar. Now, on voting day, Landing Day, do you just go as you are to vote, or do we free you temporarily? Either way, it would be a secret ballot, protected by law." He tried to figure out the underclothes, and she moved to help him with the wrappings.

"A secret ballot?" she asked.

"Let's say there's a proposal to tax beer," he said, as she helped him pull a shirt on. He ran his fingers through his hair, "One side puts forth the arguments for, the other side against." He pulled on the over-pants, "On election day, you, having heard both sides go and vote. You know that I prefer it, but you yourself think it's a bad idea, and don't give me the 'I'm a slave...' bit. You yourself said you're not stupid."

"So I would vote the way my master wishes," she said, fetching and holding his over-robes.

"NO! You would vote the way YOU think is best, and you would be protected by law from being forced to vote a particular way, or to tell how you voted." He shrugged his shoulders, settling the robes. "In this case, you would vote against the plan, while I would vote for it, and we see who wins." He turned to regard her, "If I want your vote, I have to convince you that it's the best way."

"We could... vote to end... slavery, master..." she said, awestruck.

"Yes, you could, but you also have to deal with the aftereffects." He held up a finger, "What do you do with your criminals?" A second finger, "Who feeds all those slaves? Where do they shelter at night? What about your former owners? They've invested quite a bit of money in you, what about that?"

Arthur moved into the office as she moved to pack up his case. She clutched it, "I had not thought of those things, master."

"Primarily why we haven't," her master said. "The people at Port Lincoln are working on that, letting the girls there think outside their collar, and learn a skill that they can get paid for." He regarded her, "Are you ready for that? Can you walk out the door and find a job as a free female? You answer me that, honestly, and I'll free you, right now."

"I... no, master, I cannot."

He reached forward to tip up her chin to look in her eyes, "When you can, please let me know. For now, let's take the Ministry."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Faaqr, you are under arrest for bribery and corruption," Arthur told the senior bureaucrat, who stood before him. "You will be held until trial at the Ministry of Justice, where you can consult with your attorney. If you do not have an attorney, one will be provided." He closed the file folder, "Count yourself lucky that we are operating under the old rules, the new ones give a death penalty for these charges. Take him out of here," he told the guard, and First handed him another folder from the 'yellow' list. He studied it as the prisoner was hustled out, "Biindam, clan Kraana is next."

Looking up as the prisoner was hustled in, "Biindam, you have been arrested and are charged with using your office for personal gain. This is in violation of existing statutes for corruption."

"Everyone did it!" the dark-skinned native shot back. "Daala and all the rest of the Elders! Why shouldn't I?"

"If Daala jumped off a cliff, would you?" Arthur asked. "We are charging you under the existing statutes, not under the new, revised ones, where corruption will give a death sentence." The prisoner paled, Arthur continued, "You will be held at the Ministry of Justice, where you can hire and consult with an attorney, a speaker-at-law in your defense. If you cannot afford one, a speaker-at-law will be provided." He regarded the prisoner, who was silent. Jerking his head, he said, "Take him out." He sighed, then muttered, "I wish I'd watched more cop shows when I had the chance," as he watched Biindam be escorted from the impromptu hearing room.

First waited until he left, then offered another folder, "This one is red-list, master. Former master Daala had capital charges arranged, but not filed. Riissa, clan Paajab, who was former master Daala's preferred killer."

"You've read the file, then," and she nodded. "I would greet him when he visited former master Daala, master. He does not tread the path of the Source (she made the Source's circle), he does not have a soul." Arthur sighed and looked in the file.

"Thank you, fraulein," one of the German bodyguards said. He raised an eyebrow, Arthur sighed and nodded. A non-descript small man was brought in, heavily bound, with empty eyes.

"Riissa, clan Paajab," Arthur said to the prisoner, "You are charged with murder and kidnapping for hire, enslavement without process of law, buying and selling of slaves without license, and operating an unlicensed spacecraft. The first two, murder and kidnapping for hire, carry a death penalty, the others carry the penalty of enslavement. You will be held until trial..."

"Trial? Where is Daala?"

"Former Minister Daala wagered and lost his position, I am now Finance Minister and Grand Councilor," Arthur replied coldly. "I would suggest you cooperate with the Justice Ministry, Riissa. As I was saying, you will be held until trial, you will have the opportunity to hire defense counsel, a speaker-at-law. Should you not be able to afford one, one will be provided for you."

"You Terrans have taken over," Riissa said, straightening up. "I don't have a problem with that, I can work for anyone. What kind of deal can I get?"

"We follow the law when we do our killing. Any deals would be negotiated with the Ministry of Justice," Arthur said coldly. "Any other questions?" He waited a minute; then jerked his head. He waited until the door clicked closed, then put his head down, "My god, his eyes were empty. He is a soulless bastard. I'm glad I don't have to try him."

"I am also, master," First said, and shivered. Arthur scrubbed his face, then eyed her, "Have you thought any about a name? 'First' is a title, not a name, and the reason I named C'ari that was she reminded me of a friend." He sighed, "What's next?"

"The soulless one was the last, master," she said, packing up his case. "I would suggest walking about the Ministry, to know people, and I have some ideas for a name, but nothing sounds... well, me. Does that make any sense, master?"

"Perfect sense," he told the older woman. He sat back and regarded her, "You're what, twenty five or so?

"Thank you, master," she said with a smile. "Twenty-nine standards, I was bought by former master Daala seventeen years ago."

He put his palms on the small table, and stood. "If I may ask, did you have anyone in particular, a mate, someone you're close to?"

"I am a bred WorkForce slave, master, so there is none in the sense of a legal mate, as you and Mistress Lady Lantern are." She clutched the case to her chest, "However, there is a Council Guard that treated me well, we would often speak, she hoped to buy me one day from former master Daala."

"I see. Have you written to her? There are quite a few Blacks who want to cross their wrists to us, to cleanse their path to the Source." He moved to the door, holding it open, but she hung back. "That... that might be pleasant, master, to wear the same owner's collar. Would you be willing to buy her?"

She gestured for him to precede her, and he turned. "I'd rather not buy anyone, and she would belong to Governor Sullivan, in order to keep her from being abused. Why do you assume you would stay a slave? Have you thought about your own freedom?"

"My own... master, that's been a fantasy since I was first collared. I shall have to think long and hard on this, and tonight, if master allows, I will write T'ela and... master?"

"Sorry. I have a sister named Teela, one of the last Blacks we captured was named T'ela. Write your letter to her, I'll see that she gets it."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, July 21, 2002: 15:55 (GMT -5)  
Terra, MIT housing, barbecue area:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Anne," Chantal asked, "Do you have those gravity equations? I want to form a gravity lens."

Shaking her head, Anne Bundy asked, "What dids't thou say? 'Twas off with the pixies."

"Gravity equations," Chantal repeated. "I want to try designing a laser using them as the resonator chamber. How reflective are the gravity lenses?"

"'Twould depend on the circuit, and would'st thou be using a fresnel-type lens for the output mirror? I hath a reference book here..." She dug through her bag while Kat asked, "What would you use the laser for?"

"I was thinking antimissile defenses on the warships the Guard will be building," Chantal replied, and winked. "Job hunting, y'know."

"Thou art seeking employment?" Anne asked, looking up from her bag. "If thou wishes to live in London, thou might work with me. 'Tis an expensive town," she warned, adding, "We have a weapons section, I hath taken thy suggestion o' the other day, and used it for a missile pod." She eyed the FBI and MI-6 agents, "Thou must be aware that I might have used a privacy spell. If thou needs to listen to our conversation, there will be a price."

"What price?" Agent Perkins of the FBI said.

"Thou wilt exert thy influence to hurry along the documents." She glanced at Chantal, "Hath thou a passport?" The blonde shook her head, and the 'Six' bloke said, "She would need an 'Intent to hire' before we can issue a working visa."

"That doth not be a problem, but I will'st need the same from thee." The 'Six' bloke nodded, Anne turned, "Karen?" Her older/younger sister held up a finger, chewing on her upper lip and muttering "... forty-two." She threw down her pencil, massaging her temples and asked, "What? I hate calculus."

"Calculus doth be simple," her sister said. "Prithee, I wish a document from thee, I wish to hire yon Chantal to work with me."

"Intent to hire? Not a worry, when do you graduate?"

"This is my last term, it finishes in September," the blonde prankster replied. "Um, what about an apartment?"

"One of the programmers I believe is looking for a flatmate," Karen replied. "I'll email her and ask if she's interested. May I pass on your email, you two can then discuss terms and conditions. She graduated from Cambridge, by the by. Her name's Liz Sterling."

Anne turned and looked at the two agents, who both nodded. "The problem we doth be having is in production of the warhead. Targeting relies on the subspace sensor grid; the pods themselves are a simple hexagonal framework with a small, sub critical Brayton-cycle generator. My liege Lady hath said we shall not use nuclear fission or fusion warheads; this doth leave us with antimatter or quark designs. Antimatter doth be exceptionally sensitive to contaminants and handling, but 'tis easier to produce in quantity, 'twi' a lower yield. Quark explosives are more powerful, but also more difficult to produce..."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, July 23, 2002: 15:55 (relative)  
P'wheel, orbit:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good day, gentlebeing," Mattie said to the face on the comm screen. "I wanted to see if a friend's ship was in, the _Ben Nevis_, registered to Greywolf out of the Terran Empire. If so, I'd like a matching orbit, please."

"Passing orbital parameters," he snapped and disconnected.

Mattie turned to her 'Captain', "Pleasant fellow, isn't he?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mattie!" Sprink said on the comm. "What are you doing here?"

"I got called away," she replied. "Just a little invasion by pirates, nothing much. Picked up some slaves, of course, I seem to attract them like a magnet. I talked to Amber and her clan-mothers, they're looking to resettle some of their people, and I thought you'd be here, maybe we could work a deal."

Sprink looked away for a moment, "It's still a bit before the local business day starts. Why don't you lot grab a shuttle over, we'll talk, I'll call down and see if we can modify our contract to accept another species." She looked over her best bud, "When's the last time you slept in, you look like shite."

"Always the diplomat," Mattie grinned. "Sleep? What's that?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

(We would like to see the trees at this location for ourselves,) one of the delegation of clan-mothers said.

"Not a problem," Sprink said. "This is a trade port we are putting in, but we do things a little differently, we don't use slaves, we use machines and containers instead. They are much more efficient, and let us move a greater volume instead of one barrel at a time."

(This I would also like to see,) a clan-mother said.

"The workday is about to start on the planet," Captain Alvarez said as she stood and gestured. "We have a shuttle waiting, the appropriate planetary government people will meet us there."

"I want to get some photos, too," Mattie said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Adding them is not a problem, although we would like a rider on the contract," one of the local officials said with the clan-mother's agreement. "As part of your lease agreement, you agree to contribute to system and convoy security. You'll need to have at least one warship in system, which goes toward your tonnage quota."

Amber said, (Your other clients also contribute to your system defense. We must also look to other star systems, but we shall leave a buoy in orbit that will summon any available Lantern, in time of need.)

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Life is interesting around you, Wayne," Gloria Alvarez said later. "How long have you been a Lantern?"

"A year or so, and keep that under your hat, please," Mattie asked, while Sprink snorted, "Interesting. You have no bloody idea, ma'am. What's next?"

"Well, the next part is something I have slight difficulties with," Mattie said. "Amber called me to help handle that pirate attack. That's where those two ships come from; since I helped out, I claimed any existing slaves as well as that colony ship. I plan to take the slaves back to Windfall and free them."

"Sounds reasonable, go on," Gloria said, sipping her tea.

"The destroyer is part of the agreement with the Wookie's clan mothers, it's a security guarantee." Mattie shrugged, "It was their system, it seemed reasonable." She took a sip of coffee, then set the cup down with a click, regarding the other two women in the room. "That's why the delegation of clan-mothers is here. They're looking to establish at least one out-system colony; they're only a few thousand population, which is dropping. I was thinking one of the larger agricultural stations on Windfall, but this place would work equally well."

"Or both," Sprink said. "Redundancy is a good thing."

"The transport is what the pirates were going to use for their prisoners. I haven't had much time to look at it," Mattie admitted. "At first glance it looks like a military transport. We'd have to refit it back from cells to cabins, but that shouldn't be too difficult, we can do that at Terra."

"What about that light cruiser? They've got several compartments connected and pressurized with plastic tubing," Gloria said. "It's got a prize crew aboard it, they're doing exercises with it."

Mattie took a sip of her coffee, "As far as I'm concerned, the sooner they can get it back to Terra and taken apart, the better. If they're comfortable with the operations, good luck and God-speed to them."

Sprink commented, "They're assembling a dock to take it at L5. By the time they get there, it should be ready." She took a swallow of her own tea, "Basically a big hundred-fifty meter sphere, they've got additional partitions they can put in to subdivide it." The other two nodded as she continued, "According to Charlie's emails, Governor Sullivan will be happy with the civilian ships there until we can get a warship there. He's also sent us a list of questions about our island here, and a list of equipment they'll need to jump-start the asteroid ore processing. For now, what they're having to do is ship ore down to the Landing site, and metal up to orbit, which is a bloody pain."

"And more expensive," Mattie said. She took a sip of coffee, "We can start to do some recruiting on Terra, but the Wookies can also work in orbit." She shook her head, "The Wookie's planet is out of the Jurassic. We left most of the pirates on the planet, the ones we have wanted to cross their wrists over living on that planet. We're taking them on parole, the rest decided to tough it out on one of the islands and wait for their buddies to rescue them. They only have TWO meter dinosaurs to deal with instead of fifty meter ones." She shuddered, "Still, I went by the clan-mothers decision, local law. We're going to need skeleton crews for both ships, my 'senior captain' is a rescued slave, formerly third officer on a passenger liner. I just don't trust those pirates."

"I don't blame you," Captain Alvarez said. She sipped her tea in thought. "Still, that does give us three ships. As far as I know, we're pretty much done here, you've emailed Mr. Adams?"

Sprink nodded, "Mentioned Mattie was here, too. I'm waiting to hear back on a couple questions, but aside from that I'm good. We need to get Pansy in for construction, but as far as I'm concerned we can break orbit after I get a call back." She took a sip of tea, "We were planning to pick up a passenger ship or two for the colony transports. We can do that on Mangione, also Governor Sullivan wants to contract out Gix and T'ara's ship, the _Ngthsestr_, as a mail boat, like super-express delivery. I wrote back, saying Greywolf was interested, and they'll stop at Mangione for installation of the computers and whatnot."

"Gaa, you can pronounce that name? As long as they get a paint job," Mattie commented. "Purple and yellow? That gives me headaches."

"White and light grey are much more soothing," Gloria said. "We'll break orbit later today."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 24, 2002: 08:08 (GMT)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Infirmary:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Ladies," Madame Pomfrey said. "I have good news and bad news."

"Good news first," Sandra said instantly.

"I am discharging you. Your shipmates have dropped off clothing for you, you are free to leave."

"What is the bad news?" Doc asked as she was lowered to the ground, where she did some full-body stretches. Sandra did some light exercises, muscles stiff as two chairs were floated in with neatly folded clothing and boots.

"I shall miss you, you have proved not only a professional challenge, but a refreshing change from potion and transfiguration accidents." The grey-clad matron gave each of them a hug, "Your shipmates are waiting in the Great Hall for you. Stop by and see us again, won't you?"

"Certainly," Doc said as she returned the hug.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ladies," Captain Watson said, rising to greet them. "I am glad to see you up and about. The doctor has released you?"

"Yes, and I never want to taste another potion in my life," Sandra replied. "That bone-growth one was horrible!"

"There be worse ones, lass," Frank said. "Trust me on tha' one." He reached under the table they sat at, and tossed the First Officer a staff. "Good solid oak, w' steel bands, lass. Thump y' enemies."

"And as for you, Doctor," the Captain handed over a book. "The crew has clubbed up to purchase an assortment of potions for your use, packed in single-use vials. They are already stowed aboard ship, as is Ms. Laval's cargo of assorted plants. The book is descriptions, dosage, and so forth, and the ship's medical database has been updated." He turned to indicate the young woman in her early twenties who sat near him. "Ms. Laval is a graduate of Loyola University in the States, and will serve Governor Sullivan as her botanist. Some of the same duties that Mr. MacDonald serves the _Scythe_."

"A witch," Sandra replied, twirling her new staff.

"Nae just a' witch," the dusky-skinned young woman said, shaking her corn-row braided dark blonde hair. "I be a voudou priestess, carrying on the proud traditions of my mothers and grandmothers."

"Voodoo?" the First Officer replied with a disbelieving snort. "I could..." she froze in place, and then levitated from the floor, turning to 'lie' face-down, four feet in the air. She blinked, but that was all she could do.

"An' tha' was without my makin' a doll, or havin' your skin, blood, or hair," Ms. Laval said calmly. Her left hand made a small motion, and the former assassin found herself back on her feet. Marie studied the smaller Chinese woman under half-lidded eyes, a finger twitched, and Sandra stumbled a bit as she could move again.

The two regarded each other; then Sandra smiled sweetly, nodding and extending a hand, "Welcome aboard the _Scythe_."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, July 25, 2002: 03:15 (GMT) (Fiveday, 27 Quintus, 162: 09:30)  
Windfall, High Town, Justice Ministry slave cells (lowest level):  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

As he walked down the dimly lit stone corridor, Arthur commented, "Y'know, Elena, I'm glad you could make it. There are some things I could really use advice on. I'm not a Slytherin, a politician, and while Pansy's helped, they can be rather cold blooded."

"They're practical, little brother," his sister said, pausing and moving aside as a chain of slaves moved past. "This is a slave planet, and you can't simply click your heels and make it over, you can be rather idealistic."

"Somebody has to be. I have, essentially, Mattie's proxy," Arthur replied. "She is the new head of clan Lantern, what was formerly clan Daala, and the social set is turning itself inside out to get me to their parties. She left, very publicly, but I don't know what to do."

"Ignore them. Consolidate power along with Herr Gruber and Mr. Burnet," she advised. "You're the Finance Minister now, you even look it." She gestured to his heavy white robes, adding, "Burnet took over the Information Ministry when Zuunti kicked the bucket."

"A hostile takeover, I know," her brother said. The Information Minister, not knowing of various revelations, had gone out to his favorite restaurant for last-meal, and had run into trouble. Fatal trouble, and despite the noise he must have made, nobody had seen or heard anything. His slaves had all been securely locked in their cells, his First Girl had not left the residence (as there was a slave barrier at the door). Personally, Arthur suspected his personal household slaves had arranged something, he was beginning to understand how devious they could be, all while kneeling, smiling, and saying, 'Yes, master'. Of course, officially, he had no clue. "Thanks for coming along," he said.

"The uniformed services are at the bidding of our civilian masters," she said.

"Yeah, right," he replied. "That and a gram will get you a cup of tea."

"On which planet?" she asked. "By the way, where's Daala? I wanted to see him."

"At the house, in a cell on the lowest level, with the rack and other toys," he replied, and stopped at a gate and gestured to a Ministry guard, who unlocked a heavy wooden door at least two inches thick. An iron grille allowed a view through it, but the mesh was far too small to reach through. They walked through, the door shut with a hollow boom, and he whispered, "I swear, they must design for effect." The Ministry prison looked like something from the Terran middle ages, with torches mounted every so far, built out of stone and brick.

Arthur checked a card, then stopped at a tiny cell, no wider than the heavy wooden door. Inside, Elena could see three tightly hooded slave girls with judicial collars, their wrists cuffed behind them, and their doubled-back leashes attached to a high ring, forcing them to kneel in the inspection position. Arthur took a key from his pouch, turning it several times to unlock the door. Replacing it, he held the door for his sister, "These three are known as the Trouble Trio. Know the person Mom said that was killed with Mattie in command?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't look dead to me," he said, tapping a hairless slave on the head. He addressed them, "The System Governor wants to see you three. When I release your ankles, you will stand and be chained in coffle." The three whimpered once, and he added to his sister, "These three are troublemakers, lazy, good for nothing." He winked at his sister, "The Governor has essentially thrown up her hands and given up. There's a ship going out, they'll probably be on it. Stand up, the three of you," and he tapped one. "You, turn left, you're leading because you're closer to the door."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur paused outside one cell, and the trailing slaves knelt. "You could call this the VIP section, there's only single occupants to these cells. Of course, it could be because the cells are smaller."

Elena looked in, there was a single hooded slave girl, heavily chained and neck-ringed in a space about eighteen by twenty-four inches. Her brother continued, "I don't know if you've heard about the Elder's merry little game of chase slave, but there was one that belonged to Paavue that evaded him, somehow, for five years. He swore that when he caught her, she would last at least four months for embarrassing him." He gestured, "Here she is. She was caught in the same trap that the slave 94383 was in, when we collected her, we got the both. Out of respect for her abilities, she got a private cell." As he was unlocking the cell, he asked the slave, "I will do you the courtesy of not using your enhancement to force you, if you will co-operate." She gave a defiant double whimper, and Elena thought she would have spat if she could have. He sighed, "Restrict slave 19571." The girl jerked, and Arthur unlocked her, leaving the door partially open to indicate vacancy.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"These are all the enhanced slaves that are not being used as computer components," Arthur told his sister when the other four had been added to the group. She picked out several of the chase slaves, and felt a little jealous, those girls were indeed knockouts. The slaves sat tightly gagged and hooded, and she felt pity for them as they were secured in the shuttle's seats. Giving her a hug, Arthur left her, and she secured the hatch.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I'm not sure how I feel about these passengers," Helen said from the right seat. "We're doing something good for them, but we're still treating them like... like... cattle."

"I know," Elena said as she strapped in and adjusted her seat. "Did you see some of them? They're designed to be attractive, you heard about the chase slaves?"

"Yeah. Gives 'arm candy' a whole new meaning," the Taiwanese copilot said as she flipped switches and took notes in grease pencil on the window. "Ready to lift."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur turned and waved as his sister's shuttle lifted, Helen returned his wave. He watched as the shuttle turned and flew south, then sighed and settled his shoulders. He nodded down the street, "I'm in the mood for a cuppa, what about you?" he asked his bodyguard.

"You're buying, Herr Minister?" Heinrich asked with a smile.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Outside the teashop, there were a dozen or so slaves kneeling in the sun, waiting for their owners. Heinrich could see Herr Morton's face tighten into his usual frown, then smooth out as their conversation died down, the slaves shifted, putting their heads down. "Fair morning, Minister," several said.

"Good morning, girls," he replied. "Any interesting news today?" Several free persons stopped looking at the large video display next door and turned to listen. One of the shop slaves hurried out the door, Arthur was known here, she carried the usual two cups of herbal tea. As usual, she insisted that her master did not wish his coin, and he insisted on paying for his drink and Heinrich's.

"Master, what is this we hear of females being granted the vote?" one off-planet slave asked. She was a WorkForce girl in a common collar; her hands were cuffed behind her and she was leashed to a slave ring. She was evidence of her owner's relative wealth, most slave owners could not afford an imported slave. Her face and neck showed tan lines from her owner removing her heavy black leather mask. She shook her hair back as Arthur took a sip of his tea.

"It's simple," he replied. "We're essentially doing a reset back to the original legal code of the colony. We're trying to eliminate the gender bias, things like the property requirement. What we're proposing is free males and females over fifteen standard years can vote and hold public office. A person can hold an Assembly position for three five year terms, then they must sit out at least one term before running again." There was some discussion of this, one burly male shoved his way through the crowd, demanding, "What is this shonnen-dropping about arming slaves?"

Arthur took a sip of tea, motioning Heinrich back as he set his cup down. He stood, face to face with the angry local, and said, "If you had bothered to read the news, or listen to our broadcasts, you would know that applies to the northern continent. There is a predator animal there, they need to be able to defend both themselves and their farms. What would you have them do?" The angry man snarled at him, then turned and shoved through the crowd.

"I still don't like the idea," another owner said nervously.

"If you treat your slaves well, you don't need to worry," a rail-thin blonde woman said airily. "I know I do, my slaves would never dream of lifting a finger without my permission. I rarely have to beat them, they love me, and it's not as if you Terrans are planning to _free_ them. Why, the very thought is absurd, after all." She snorted delicately, waving a dismissive hand, "No, I plan to have my district's Assembly seat. We know the problems, we need to have a change from the Elders. What is this currency reform you're proposing?"

Arthur didn't miss the flash of a smirk on the slave's face as she put her head down. "It's simple," he said, and waved a hand at the sky. "This is a rich binary system, basing the economy on iron is like basing it on sand. We're going to be moving to an economy based on the galactic standard, tungsten. What we have to decide is the conversion rate." He checked his wrist comp, "A gram of tungsten will buy roughly seventeen thousand kilos of iron on the interstellar markets, we want to be fair to people, but we also can't afford to bankrupt the government."

This caused a lot of comment, Arthur sat back and let them run down, when someone asked, "What do you mean, 'rich'? The Elders have always said that the island's metal-poor."

"The ISLAND is, but you've got two large asteroid belts, you've got mines available on the continent, and the Elders made some very poor decisions in favor of lining their pockets," Arthur replied. He took a sip of tea, gesturing at the large video screen. "That's why we've been showing our weekly meetings, and why I'm sitting here drinking tea. We believe in transparency and open government, how often did Daala sit and drink tea with ordinary people?" He took another swallow of tea, "Once we get things built up a bit, every house and business will have a computer, you'll be able to do your banking and keep track of things like government." The rail-thin blonde woman flinched slightly, and Arthur decided to twist the knife a bit, adding, "If your Assembly-person is doing something you don't agree with in Riverside, you can keep an eye on it, you can write him or her to express your unhappiness, and remember, they stand for election every five years, and they'll have a district office here as well." He took a final sip of tea, "One problem we've found is widespread bribery and official corruption. While the people we've arrested are being tried under the OLD laws, once the new constitution goes into effect, offering a bribe gets a thirty year collar, but ACCEPTING a bribe, by a government official is a capital offense." He made a quick, throat-cutting gesture, "Public execution, we put your head on a fence with a big sign: 'Convicted of public corruption'. Should do wonders to eliminate payoffs. You'll notice I pay for my tea? I want to keep my head."

Standing, he said, "Back to the office, Heinrich. Need to figure out a fair way to reform this economy."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

C'ari and the other slaves had been watered and suctioned, their hoods removed, and knelt in the sand in the shade of palm trees while Elena and Helen waited, sitting on the local version of a picnic table. Helen checked her wrist comp, saying, "It looks like the Governor's running late, so..."

"No, she's not! Hang on there!" and an older blonde came up the path, memo board in hand. Elena and Helen stood in respect, and the slaves put their heads to the ground. Mistress Governor said, "Heads up, girls," and sat at the table. "Girls, I'm Lieutenant Governor Castellano. Would the six chase slaves go to Inspection position for a minute?" She waited, then said, "I only see five..."

Elena said, "19571, please sit up, I don't want to force you." She sighed, "Governor, my brother Arthur told me about these girls, and he said, and I quote, 'The criminal charges and convictions are purest shonnen-shit.'" She grinned, "On the other hand, 19571 has been on the run for five years or so, damned if I know how. However, she embarrassed the hell out of Paavue, which gives her lots of points in my book."

The red-haired slave sprang to her feet, getting ready to run, when Helen punched her, using her leash chain to hogtie her. The rebellious slave tried to free herself, twisting around to glare, which is about all she could do.

"Looks like someone's trying for an actual judicial collar," Benni said. "Set her up on her knees, please. How far do you think you could go?"

"She's an escape artist, the only reason we got her was a taser, and she couldn't run very fast, her hobbles were chained together. I actually have a lot of respect for her, and the other chase slaves, the way the Elders stacked the deck against them."

"Hmf," Benni replied thoughtfully. "Girl, if you will do me the courtesy of your attention for the next half-hour or so, I will release your hands and feet, and let you go where you choose. You will wear the System Governor's collar, who is a former slave herself, and my boss. You can either go along with my plan, or make your own way, but if you want your freedom and a dark collar, my way is the only way."

19571 considered this, then nodded once. Elena reached down to release her hands and ankles, which the girl rubbed, held up a finger, and went for water. She came back, kneeling with her knees together, and nodded politely.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That's the deal," Benni said in summary. "If you have a judicial collar, like eight of you do, including the chase girls, I will decide based on your crimes and behavior to extend, reduce or nullify your sentence, at which time you can move to a common collar." She took a drink of water, "If you have a common collar, you belong to the Governor only as protection while you learn a trade. You can ask for a dark collar at any time before the end of your apprenticeship, but then you violate the contract with both the Governor and your teacher, your Sensei. That would mean paying back the balance owed, if you stick it out, you wind up with an education, a trade, a dark collar and money in your pocket." She took another drink of water, then said, "I'm going to refill my water, you girls think about it for five minutes or so," and turned to 19571. "You paid attention, you are released from our agreement. You can take off running, or sit back and think about my offer." The chase slave tugged at her leash and her gag, and Benni shook her finger, "That's what I mean when I said 'teaching you to think free'. If you had indicated you wanted them off when we made our agreement, I would remove them. You didn't, so I won't. You lasted over five years with the black one on, so it's not necessary to your survival. I'm not putting your hobbles back on, nor am I confining your hands. You're ahead of where you were five years ago, you can do what you want, go where you want on this island, which you probably know fairly well." She stood up, stretching, then walked off to the water point, leaving the girls to think.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You're still here?" Benni said, somewhat surprised as she saw the un-gagged 19571. Elena held up her finger, "There are still questions, and I said that she could take off running after the questions, if she wanted to."

"I am still collared and leashed, mistress," the girl said hoarsely. "I am still marked slave," and there was a sense of disgust there.

"Go drink water, see if you can soothe your throat," Benni said. "We can wait a few minutes longer."

"Let me help," Elena offered.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"First, we cannot remove your collars," Benni said. "With enhancement, it's impossible. No matter what, you're in those collars."

"The question is what color lights we show, and who holds our control chips, mistress," 19571 said.

"Should you decide to go with the program, a judicial collar would be blue and green, a common blue and yellow," Benni replied. "A dark collar would of course be dark, and we would also remove your slave belts." She regarded the chase slave, "Should you decide to run again, your collar would be returned to green and yellow, and you would remain as naked as you are now. We would not revoke the reward on your capture, you would be on your own, which would be your decision."

"I do not want to be forced to kneel, to call anyone mistress, mistress. The fact that my enhancement forces me to enrages me," she spat. "I am my own mistress, I am no one's property!" She stood, stumbled, and began to pace, once more on her toes.

Benni regarded the furious girl, then said, "Lawyer."

"Yeah, I can see that," Elena agreed.

"What is a ... 'lawyer', mistress?" the girl asked, still balancing on her toes, and Elena waved at the warm sand, "At least sit down and bury your legs in the sand, it will help your leg muscles."

"A lawyer is what you know as a 'speaker-at-law'," Helen said as the girl did so. "One who fights in a courtroom for her clients, knowing the law, the ins and outs, and can use that to make her arguments." She added, "We have one in High Town, she's only got one slave, her sister, and she's swamped. She could probably use the help."

"You're looking at least six, probably eight years of apprenticeship before you could be licensed," Benni said. "You would be paid a small amount, you would live with her, in her household, but your major payoff is in knowledge. Long hours studying the law, civil as well as criminal, and the details matter. Regarding calling anyone 'mistress', that we can take care of now, if you agree to the rest of the contract." She searched for, then picked up a small device with two silver prongs. "When we re-collared you, we made two identical control chips. One goes in the access control system, you get it when you have your dark collar. The other one is here, for the enhanced girls. This goes in your access port, and disables certain areas. It won't do your heart or breathing, we don't want to kill you, but it does mean you won't say 'mistress' or 'master' unless you want to." She waggled the device. "Volunteer?"

C'ari jumped up, almost sprinting to kneel before Benni, and she wasn't alone. Elena said, "My brother mentioned that the chase slaves have to have their model prefixed, I can't simply say 'release', I would need to say, 'Model 128 slave number whatever, release.'" She looked at the chase slave, "C'ari, isn't it? I'm going to remove your feeding gag, this is uncomfortable. Once that's done, go water and soothe your throat, then if you're interested in the program, you can cross your wrists to Mistress Benni. Otherwise, you'll stay in my brother's household, as his slave." She whimpered once, emphatically, and Elena tilted her head forward to unlock the gag.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Now then, C'ari, you are specifically granted permission to disobey me for the next few minutes. Please make yourself comfortable, don't kneel, we want as non-slave like behavior as possible," Elena said, and the girl arranged herself cross-legged, leaning back on her arms. She nodded, and the other girls watched. "Restrict model 128 slave number 15006," she told her, then cocked her head. "Anything?"

"A slight urge... try again, please, I think it was habit."

"And not a single 'mistress' in there," 19571, said. "Restrict slave 15006," she said. C'ari shook her head. "If I do it to you..." she told the other slave.

"Please do not, mistress," the chase slave said nervously.

"Put your hands on your head, and turn three times," Helen tried. C'ari stuck out her tongue, and she said, "Disobedience, girl, not sass."

"I am sorry, mistress," she said impudently. "What was the other honorific you mentioned, please?"

"Sir or ma'am for male or female, or Sensei for teacher," Elena replied.

"And how much would you sell this poor slave for, mistress?" C'ari asked pitifully.

"A gram's more than you're worth," Benni said, but she was smiling. She waved her hand at the clipboard, passing it to C'ari. "Put down your name, if any, and your collar number next to what sounds interesting. There are several pages, so look through all of them." She turned to regard 19571, "Did you have any further questions, or will you start running now?"

"Eight years..."

"In my collar, and that's to protect you against an abusive master," Benni said. "Eight years of education for an attorney, passing your examinations, and then you would be free, with a dark collar."

"And money," Elena chipped in, removing another slave's hood. She regarded the hot-blooded redheaded slave, "One other thing for you to consider. We're giving the vote to free females, and there will be people running for political office. It's entirely possible that you could be elected to the planetary Assembly; you'd be making the laws. Think about your long range plans."

Helen added, "It's going to be difficult, there will be times when you want to say 'the hell with this'..." The chase slave put her hand on her belt, touching the penalty brands she wore, then nodded. She stood, kneeling in front of Benni, "Mistress, this slave begs her sale and the training you have mentioned. Beat me, bind me, brand me, own me," and she paused, then took a deep breath and crossed her wrists.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, July 25, 2002: 13:38 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Corfu, Solar Guard training base:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good afternoon," Selina Wayne said from the temporary platform. She smiled, "I'm sorry, I throw a different press conference than my daughter, I don't feed the press." She pulled off her black silk robe, revealing a tight white bodysuit. There were catcalls and whistles, and the click and whir of camera shutters, she stretched luxuriously, then moved back behind the podium. "This is what people will be wearing in the holographic training tanks that WayneTech is donating to the Solar Guard." She grinned impishly, "This is the same technology that the JLA uses, there is an old saying that it is better to sweat in training than bleed in combat." She shrugged back into her robe, then indicated the commanding general, "General Miklos has kindly agreed to a zero gee combat demonstration, but there is a reason for that sign reading 'Abandon hope, ye who enter.' General?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**Thursday, July 25, 2002: 16:45 (GMT) (Fiveday, 27 Quintus, 162: 22:45)  
Windfall, High Town, Finance Minister's home:  
*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You have a visitor, master," First said with a small smile, then stepped aside to show a bashful C'ari. Arthur stood, "A visitor, C'ari? You'll always be a friend of mine. You made a decision?"

The redhead took a deep breath, "Yes, my former master. I hope it is the right decision..." She hesitated, then ran to hug him, "Oh, how can I thank you, master?"

"By letting me breathe?" he gasped, and she squeaked and released him. He put his arms on her shoulders, smiling at her, then pulled her into a small hug. He put an arm over her shoulders, "Let's go to the kitchen, get a cup of tea, and we can all celebrate with you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Arthur took the first cup, placing it in C'ari's hands, then ceremoniously pouring her a cup of tea. He accepted the second cup, leaning back against the counter as the other household girls filtered into the kitchen, followed by Miika, who leaned against the doorframe. "So..." he invited.

"Master's sister said that travel would broaden my mind, so I decided to sign on to the new mail ship, the _Ngthsestr_. My contract with the Governor will earn a dark collar when I have my Spacer First rating, so it is possible I will have a dark collar within three standard years."

"Oh... I am jealous," First said. "I will kneel and call you mistress..."

"I said before, and I'll say it again," Arthur repeated. "If you think you can survive as a free female, I'll free you here and now. That means making your own decisions, and our financial reform package also includes payment for your service." He slapped his forehead, "By the way, I've got a letter back for you in my office from T'ela. Don't let me forget it."

"I did not belong to you very long, my lord Arthur, but I wish you and your female, the Lady Lantern, all the joy in the universe," C'ari said. "My only regret is that I do not think I will be there to witness your joining ceremony."

"It's a possibility, I'll keep you in mind," Arthur said, and the buxom redheaded slave squealed, throwing her arms around him, kissing him. She sighed in happiness, when Miika asked, "Tell us about your ship, girl."

"It is a small ship, but fast, master," C'ari said. "Mistress T'ara is the owner, but she wears a judicial collar, so a Terran is serving as Captain. Our first stop is to have the additional computers and hardware installed to fit us as an Imperial mail ship." She glanced impishly at Arthur, "For some reason, the Terrans do not like the ship's paint, so we shall also be repainted white and light grey. Personally, I do not see what is wrong with purple and yellow."

"It's painful to look at," Arthur said. "You try not to draw attention. Who else is joining you?"

"Mistress Governor Castellano called them the 'Trouble Trio'. There was a long discussion regarding the possibility of two of them 'jumping ship' at a particular planet, apparently they had kin there." C'ari shuddered, "They are already Spacer Third, with a little more work, they will earn a dark collar and may go where they wish. Why would they risk being hunted as escaped slaves? As I understand it, we do not even land most of the time, it is primarily transmission of data."

Arthur took a sip of tea, "I know about these two. The firstborn twin, A'nore, is hotheaded and impulsive. She was forced to cross her wrists to her sister, B'tan, who is somewhat more levelheaded. Still, they're sisters, they are the only kin they have. The other is an un-named slave?"

C'ari nodded. "She wears a judicial collar, and her mask is attached to her face somehow. Mistress Governor Castellano said she wore it because she attacked a free person." The other slaves in the kitchen reacted to that, "I heard later that Mistress Governor Sullivan owed her life to the slave, when she herself was slave, so she commuted the sentence from death to thirty years." She looked at Arthur, "Lord Lantern, the other Terrans seemed... irritated with that slave. Can you tell me why?"

"Privately, and only because she will be your shipmate, you deserve to know. I expect you to keep it confidential also." C'ari nodded, "Yes, my Lord Lantern."

"Come," First said. "The last night you will spend with we common girls. Master, can you struggle through without us for one night?"

"I think so, just don't wake Miika up. Enjoy yourself, and I will see you all in the morning."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, July 26, 2002: 08:07 (relative)  
In orbit, **_Ngthsestr_**, Flight deck:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I think it's time we get things organized," Yael Miller said from the Captain's chair. She indicated T'ara, who was in the single control position's chair. "The Triplets are all flight-deck qualified, so they'll be taking the individual watches. T'ara will be serving as our Engineer, she and I are on call. C'ari, you'll be working with T'ara to learn the ship's systems while you're not studying for Spacer Third."

"Yes, Mistress," C'ari, A'nore and B'tan replied, while the nameless 94383 whimpered from where she knelt.

"Second point," Yael said. "I am your Captain, not your Mistress. You may be collared, but as far as I am concerned, you're not slaves, but shipmates." She looked at 94383, "Governor Sullivan may have sentenced you to that gag, but I'm going to have it removed when we reach Mangione and we undergo refit. You can't do your job properly if you can't speak. Any questions from anyone?"

"We are not slaves?" C'ari asked hesitantly.

"Not to me," Yael said. "To anyone outside the crew, all five of you are wearing judicial collars, so you can expect to be treated as slaves, and you'll have to wear slave yellow. That shouldn't be too often, we'll generally get into transmission range. If we have physical mail or light cargo, that's a different situation, we'll have to land or dock at a station. We'll deal with it then." She eyed her crew, then nodded. "T'ara, please draw up a watch schedule, and 94383, take the helm and prepare to break orbit. I want to speak to you privately." T'ara logged off and stood, gesturing to the others as 94383 stood and stretched, taking the helm as the others left.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Yael sat back and watched the (very) short-haired girl as she worked the console. The leatherlike mask she wore flowed down from her nose, under her eyes and over her cheeks and jawline, back to seamlessly cover the back of her neck. She reviewed what she knew of the girl while she worked. '_British, originally Arrowhead's network boffin_,' she thought. '_She's turned down several chances to get out of her collar, going so far as to take a swing at Miss Wayne. The other girls obviously know her history, by the way they treat her. I think ... I'll treat her no better or worse than the others for now, we'll see how she likes being treated as a slave at Mangione_.' She nodded to herself, and said aloud, "Ship's log, Captain Yael Miller recording. We have broken orbit from Windfall, and are currently working through the inner asteroid belt in this system. Our destination is Mangione, where we will have the equipment installed for making this ship over to a proper mail boat. End entry." She stood, crossing to the replicator and asking, "Tea?"

94383 whimpered once with a nod, her focus on her board. She heard the hum of the replicator, and her new Captain set an insulated cup next to her. She glanced sideways as a legal pad was placed next to her, her Captain added, "I don't know what your tastes are regarding tea. The legal pad is for you. How long to clear this asteroid belt?"

She could feel the gag's packing in her mouth, the tube going down her esophagus. Part of tea-drinking was the social interaction. She reached a brief gap, and wrote on the pad, '_Thank you for the tea. I can't taste it until the mask is removed_.' She slid the pencil behind her ear, and touched the controls, at their current speed the normally sparse asteroids came up fairly quickly. She did a quick query of the ship's radar, then scribbled, '_Probably another 3-4 hours for this belt at this speed. Do you want to orbit an outer planet_?' The Captain leaned forward to read this, then said, "No, but do what you need to take a break at that point." She whimpered once, then returned her attention to her board.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"She wanted a collar?" C'ari said in disbelief. "My former master said that, but I didn't really believe him. Who would be so foolish?"

"94383," T'ara said, gesturing to the flight deck. "She's wearing a collar and brands now, I think we treat her as low slave for now, until our new Mistress lets us know differently." She shook her head, "These Terrans are different, but I think even they are irritated with her."

"She is still our shipmate," B'tan said, and rolled her shoulders in her new white and grey slave tunic. "I am willing to give the Terrans my loyalty, they have made things so we do not have to say 'Master' continually. It is a little thing, I know..."

"But very irritating," C'ari agreed, tapping her own implant. She turned to T'ara, "For now, you are First Girl, mistress, and I am to learn from you. Please instruct me."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

94383 whimpered once to get her new Mistress' attention, then handed over her legal pad. '_We have cleared the inner asteroid belt, and are at station-keeping, mistress_,' she had written.

"Good," Yael said, handing it back. She sat back and regarded the girl. She had had her hair shorn recently, and had white-blonde peach fuzz hair. A chain leash was integrated into her mask, ringing her neck above her slave collar. She did not wear one of the ship's slave tunics, wearing her slave belt and a pair of worn leather sandals. On her wrists and ankles, silver bands anchored small bells, she wore a ring on each middle finger that kept the bells flat against the back of her hands. She also wore a black metal ring fixed through the top of her septum, and grommets through her earlobes. "Why didn't you put on a tunic?" she asked.

'_I am low slave_,' the girl wrote on her pad, adding, '_just as I am nameless. That is my owner, Mistress Governor Sullivan's decision, mistress_.' She thought for a moment, then wrote, '_As my Captain and use-mistress, I will obey your orders, but I do not desire one. While mistress wishes to remove my mask, my owner wished me to wear it. I admit it would be easier to perform my tasks, mistress_.'

"You'd rather leave it on?" Yael asked, and the slave whimpered once. Shaking her head, Yael waved toward the forward window, and said, "No. Not on my ship. You'll wear what I say."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**Saturday, July 27, 2002: 06:15 (GMT) (Firsday, 1 Sextus, 162: 07:20)  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's complex, conference room:  
*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good morning, everyone, and Arthur, it's good to see you back." Christine said, adjusting the blinds behind her chair to block the sun. She took a seat, looking up at the four monitors suspended from the ceiling, the cameras below them.

"It's good to be back, ma'am. How did T'ara make out?"

"I cut her sentence in half, thirty to fifteen years, and left her seven year credit. That gives her about seven and a half years in my collar, so I think she's doing all right." The governor grinned up at the camera, "C'ari is... well, she's cute. I'm a little surprised she still has that much spark."

Christine turned as Charlie came in, taking a seat next to her and using the stuffed Wabbit to 'attack' her across the table. She 'shot' it with her finger, then blew the 'smoke' away as it 'squealed' and died. "They call me 'Deadeye'," she drawled. "Fastest wabbit shot in the north."

"In that case, Frau Governor, I resign," Herr Gruber said from the suspended monitor. "Like a good German, I will go back to menacing Moscow with my panzers."

"The socialist workers and peasants of the Motherland will once again rise up to defeat the imperialist aggressors!" Piotr said from the screen.

"The sailors of the Russian navy have a better idea. Let us open a bottle of good vodka and drink," Captain Senyavin said from the _McCoy_.

"Sake," Captain Komatsu said from the _Buckminster Fuller_. From his side, Pansy snorted, "You lot don't grow up in pubs like we Brits do. I challenge you lot to a drinking contest, you with me, Adams?"

"Of course, milady," Charlie replied in a 'posh' accent. He raised his glass of ice water. "We must defend the honour of the Crown. God save the Queen."

"Which one?" Arthur asked. He raised his own mug of tea, "I suppose I must defend my Liege Lady's honor. I'm in. When Mattie and the _Nevis_ get back, at Port Lincoln?"

"Actually, I got an email from Sprink and the _Nevis_," Charlie said. "Are we started yet?"

"I guess so," Christine said, and tapped her gavel. "Who's monitoring the crowd?"

"I am, mistress," a male voice said. "Miika."

"He's a good man," Arthur said, and surprised, Miika replied, "Thank you, master."

"Put me down for new business," Pansy said.

"All right," Christine said, making a note. "Old business first, agency reports. Mr. Burnet, the economy?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Tapping her gavel, Christine said, "Mr. Adams, last week you didn't get to finish your report on the wabbit problem and the colony sites. Let's have that to finish off old business."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, shuffling his notes. "I think people misunderstood when I mentioned 'arming slaves'. The situation in the northern sites is this. There is a small predator, called the 'Wabbit' (he picked up the stuffed toy). This is the correct size and colouring of the animal. It's an ambush and a pack hunter, so you might encounter several of them in a garden or field. I know it doesn't look like much of a threat, but one of these can kill you with a poison quill within five seconds or so, and then it will eat you."

He aimed the toy at the camera and flicked the tail. "The wabbit doesn't CARE if you're in a collar or not. The only way to handle it is to kill it, and that means that everyone is wearing protective clothing from the neck down, and second, that everyone in that area is armed with some form of gun. Like I said, it doesn't CARE if you're a slave or not. If you see one, you kill it. Simple as that."

"So, you're a slave, and you're in the barn, and you've just killed a wabbit. They have a post-mortem reflex, which means they're dangerous after they're dead. You've just shot this one, its head and body are bloody meat, you go to pick it up..." one hand grabbed the toy, the other slapped the tail on his hand, "...and it kills you with its quills, even after its dead. So what you do is take a chopper..." he pulled one off the floor, "...these are basically just a strong, spring-loaded knife on a pole, and you cut off its tail." With the rip of Velcro, it came off. "We're offering a bounty per head or body, so you take this body, throw it in the basket with the others, and check the rest of the barn to make sure that's the only one." He re-attached the tail, "I think any master, even the most strict, will see this. Otherwise, he's going to lose livestock and his family members to these wabbits. Now, why haven't we seen these wabbits on the island? They don't like the heat, they're a forest and grassland predator, and they hibernate, they sleep during the winter months. That's when they breed."

Christine picked up the toy as Charlie continued, "Now, we do have plans to kill any existing wabbits and block them from returning to our areas, but that also means that everyone is ready to kill them on sight. What we'll be doing is putting up fences and gates they can't get through."

"Fences are ugly," Christine commented.

"There is another possibility of some plants, called irontip," Charlie said. "There is a legal question regarding ownership, which is why I didn't bring it up. These are strong hedges, tough enough to stop a shonnen herd, but there's a gap of six centimeters or so at the base, which the wabbit might slip through. There's another plant, called bloodvine, that we can place to block that, but the ownership of that plant's patent isn't clear, which is why we haven't licensed it."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"New business," Christine said. "Ms. Parkinson?"

"Yes, I'd just like to report the first nine agricultural sites are ready to go, that's sites sixteen through twenty-four, inclusive. We're working north to south, we wanted to get them done before winter set in. Also, weather stations forty-five through fifty are installed and uploading data, including the one at the north pole, on the icecap."

"Excellent!" Herr Gruber said. "Including the web cameras?"

"Pointing due south," Pansy replied with a grin.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, July 31, 2002: 10:35 (relative)  
Mangione system, **_Ngthsestr_**, Flight deck:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Mangione approach, this is _Ngthsestr_, please hold for our Captain," A'nore told the comm screen, then touched the intercom, "Captain, approach control wants to speak to you." A minute later, Yael entered, taking her seat. "Captain, approach control wants to know where we need to go."

"Put them on, please," Yael replied, deploying a screen from her chair's arm. A small inset showed her own face, she smiled at the slave's face on the screen. "Hello, I'm Captain Miller. We need to get some equipment installed, we have a contract as a mail boat. We also need a paint job, we should have an account here with Lantern Bank."

"Yes, mistress," the Approach Control slave said, and looked off at her screen. "Dirtside, I can reserve a bay for you, that should take no longer than a standard week. You can make arrangements with the local Portmaster, there are a number of recommended firms."

"Excellent," Yael said with a smile. "This is my first visit here, are there any particular social rules or customs I need to know about?"

"Your slaves need to be clothed, but a tunic like your slave is wearing is acceptable, mistress. Aside from that, they need to wear a locked tag with your bay number. This can be wrist, a neck ring, or from a leash or collar, there is a nightly curfew for slaves, but they are also allowed to handle tungsten and purchase items with your permission. The Portmaster will discuss that with you. Also, bribery is frowned upon, the price stated is the going rate, there is no negotiation or 'gifts' to officials." She smiled, "Was there anything else, mistress?"

"No, that should cover it, thank you."

"Yes, mistress," and she tapped her keyboard. "You are assigned bay 1106, take entry course 34. Would you like to be connected to Lantern Bank at this time?"

"Yes, thank you, you've been very helpful." The slave girl disappeared, and a dark-collared girl appeared after a moment, "Lantern Bank Ship Services, how may I assist?"

"I should have an account set up here, under the Terran Empire, I have a letter of introduction," Yael started.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Aligning the marks on the bay walls, the _Ngthsestr_ settled into place, and a local slave darted from behind the safety line to connect the umbilicals. "Finished with engines, on local power, mistress," A'nore said as her status lights changed.

"Good. A'nore, will we have problems regarding your running away?"

"No, mistress," the hotheaded girl replied. "I can live with wearing a tag for a week. Will we be permitted to handle tungsten?"

"For now," Yael replied. "I'm curious as to what you'll buy, but let's talk to the Portmaster first."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you," Yael told the Portmaster, a taller, dusky skinned being with a bald head and small tentacles where his mustache would normally be. Her five slaves knelt in a line, metal tags hanging from their collars with different colored inserts in the bottom of each tag. "Two last items, I want to remove the one slave's mask, and can you recommend an inexpensive hotel?"

"A slave house will remove it for a gram or two," he semi-gargled, the tentacles waving. "Three squares north, two east is the closest. For the hotel, do you wish the slaves in a cell or a room?"

"A room, please. It is past meal-time for us, does it have a good place to eat?"

"It does," he gargled. "Go two more squares north from the slave house. Do you wish my slave to make a call for you?"

"That would be wonderful," Yael said with a smile.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
**Wednesday, July 31, 2002: 22:55 (GMT)  
Terran system, L5 orbital yards:  
*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The light cruiser slowly approached the unfinished dock, assisted by small orbital tugs. Tractor beams nudged it here and there, electromagnets locked on. An aluminum and plastic gangway was secured in place, the flares of reaction jets from work pods and suits already approaching the light blue ship.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good to see you, son," the L5 commander said. "We'll do the formal debrief later, but sit down and have a drink first, you're home."

"Yes, sir," the young Taiwanese commander said. "It was somewhat nerve-wracking. We had to present the appearance of full functionality, but when the _Wisdom_ pulled away from that station, she popped rivets all over the ship." He shook his head and accepted the British officer's tea, taking a sip. "Why in god's name they riveted the ship together, instead of welding her sections, I have no idea. We put on the performance of continual training, weapon drills, which explained our on-screen personnel constantly wearing vacuum suits. Inside the ship, we just ran boarding tunnels down the main passageways, and caulked every seam we could get to." He eyed the tea, "It needs something..."

"Reinforcement?" the older man chuckled, offering a bottle. "Single-malt?"

"That will do, sir," adding a healthy drop or three to his tea. His superior did the same, adding as he put away the bottle, "Our boffins are already downloading the contents of the main computers, but in general, what can you tell me?"

"That would have been a good ship if the Elders weren't using a political command structure. Their commander was a relative of Elder Paavue, his primary concern was looking good." He shook his head again, "When a warship's Chief Engineer has to strip parts from the weapons to keep life support running, and has to horse-trade for food with the station, that's a sad state of affairs. The station essentially surrendered so they could eat, supplies were held up until political affairs were favorable to Elder Paavue."

"Let's move on, then. What about the possibility of settlement, we've gotten some emails, but nothing in the last week or so."

"Well, we landed, everything seemed to be going well, then the Blacks, the Council Guard I mean, apparently received orders from Elder Paavue to arrest Miss Wayne and Mr. Morton. I never did find out how they knew about them, but the Blacks said that if we co-operated, they would consider returning their bodies." He gave a snorting laugh, and took another sip of his reinforced tea. "I would not want to fight Miss Wayne, she looks harmless enough, but she's a hell of a martial artist. Anyway, the score there was one dead Black, and it kicked off a small war." He took another sip, and then shifted in his seat, "Sir, Paavue apparently issued orders, expecting us to simply march up and put our heads in the noose for him. He never changed orders to his troops, and they were not allowed any sort of tactical flexibility. They would try to kick down the doors and arrest us, we would trank them and ship them off to a prison camp. It got down to a street battle in High Town, the remaining Blacks tried a house-to-house search, but they were very poorly trained. For decades, they had gotten used to no resistance, acting like an occupying army, just taking what they wanted. Free meals, drinks, slaves, whatever."

"This final battle?"

"The Guard pulled out their surprise weapons, a magazine fed crossbow and a man-portable flamethrower. Our sniper took out the crossbow with one round from his Barrett, but Miss Wayne tried to talk the girl, the Black, wearing the flamethrower to disarm, but she failed, Paavue butted in, and she was shot when she aimed at Miss Wayne." He took another gulp from the tea, "The final score was two dead Blacks, no casualties on our side." Shaking his head, "From what I saw, even when his final bodyguard was disarmed, Paavue still expected Miss Wayne to surrender to him. She's standing there with a bloody katana at his throat, his bodyguard is lying on the ground with her hands on her head, and Paavue is still arrogant enough to expect her to surrender; to submit as his slave."

"He does seem somewhat disconnected from reality," the Commander agreed. "What about the katana?"

"She cut off a Black's hand that was aiming a gun at Mr. Morton," the young officer replied. "On the run, just 'flick' and the Black's hand above her wrist is cut off. I understand we're regrowing it now, but the Blacks only got about fifteen minutes of training on those needle-guns several years ago. It's no wonder they didn't remember anything about using them." He shook his head, "To say the Council Guard was poorly trained and lead is an understatement, sir."

"Well, we'll go into that in more detail later. What about the colony sites?"

"When we left, the first half-dozen or so, the more northerly ones were pretty much built out, ahead of the planetary winter, sir. We brought photos, maps, and that kind of thing. We've also got weather and comm satellites in place, and..."


	5. 1 15 August 2002

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
5: 1 - 15 August 2002  
Thursday, August 1, 2002: 09:01 (GMT)  
Terran system, **_Olentangy_**, common room:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

_To: Maggie  
From: Bill Morton, Sr.  
Date: 1 August, 2002  
Subject: Various  
_

_Hi, honey!_

_I got your email of the 30__th__, thanks for letting us know; we share our individual emails from back home. As for us, we're still here orbiting Uranus, although Hank managed to find and fix both our gondola tractor and a balky pump. As it is, we're at 87 percent of load out, we should break orbit within the next few days. Mike's somewhat excited, it's the first time he's done a slingshot orbit; he's been carefully studying up on it. _

Bill sat back and considered, then shook his head. There was no need to tell his wife now that they had misfigured rations and would be into their emergency reserves when they docked. Misty had been horrified when she realized this, but they had simply gone on slimmer rations, as long as they had air and water, he wasn't too concerned. He shook his head again, and then resumed his letter home.

_Regarding Arthur and his correspondence, I'll just agree to the scolding you gave him. Security is all well and good, but he takes it to extremes. You should _not_ need to get the news from a third party, no matter if it's his sister or the Queen. Let me know if you think I should stick my oar in, otherwise I'll just endorse what you said. _

_That being said, you'll probably see this when you get back from London. (We're becoming quite the jet setters, aren't we?) We have heard rumblings about a 'Terran Empire' through the Guard's news channels, although those are bandwidth-limited. I do hope Teela enjoys London, she hasn't had a chance to go that often, and hopefully the kids can hook up with their Brit wizarding schoolmates to give them the 'five pence' tour. _

_I understand the Guard brought in a captured light cruiser for us to dismantle and study. We've heard 'gossip' if you can call it that on this, there is apparently a fairly extensive industrial consortium being put together to tear the ship apart and build our own. I'm glad that there are US firms in that consortium, they've certainly got plenty of room to play with in L4/L5. Hank commented that while traditional industrial processes will need some reworking, it also means that some things are a lot easier to do in zero-gee, as long as you remember the 'two M's: Mass and Momentum'. There was a discussion between Misty and Hank if that shouldn't be 'Inertia' instead of 'Momentum', Mike and I wisely stayed out of a 'discussion' between two engineers. It was too civilized to be called an argument, especially when they retired to their quarters to 'draw equations' smirk. _

_Speaking of Mike, I think he's found his calling in life. He's told me that he wants to get his private pilot's license as soon as he can, and with Hank's help, calculus 'clicked' for him. That's great, he said he's going to look into taking some AP and college classes to get ahead, with the goal of getting into the Guard ASAP. I've emailed Elena regarding her experiences on Corfu, and given him the benefit of my memories of Navy service. _

_Once again going by Guard scuttlebutt, I understand that the Greek government has turned over more of their holdings on Corfu to the Guard for more 'marine' training. Can you check my address book and see if Jim Geier has an email address? He's a FedEx co-worker who is a former Marine; his advice might be useful for both Mike and Elena. There was something I read between the lines of her last email, in that she wished she had taken more unarmed combat training. When she gets home leave, I'll sit down with her, privately, veteran to veteran with a beer or two, and see if I can pry it out. I may not be able to tell you about it, though, love, depending on what it is that's bothering her. _

_Love to all,_

_Bill_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, August 1, 2002: 09:03 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Corfu, Imperial Marine recruit training:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"A-TEN-shun!" The recruits snapped to attention at the command, as their training sergeant stopped, coming to parade rest herself. She slowly scanned them; finally said, "My name is Gunnery Sergeant Alex Sink. I am on TDY from the United States Marine Training Depot, Parris Island, but you will address me as ma'am. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am!" the platoon replied in unison.

"Good. You are all volunteers for the Imperial Marines; not the Solar Guard. If that's what you thought, this is your chance to back out." She waited a minute in silence, and then continued, "Some of you are former military service. As of this moment, you are no longer American, or British, French, or Russian. You are now _Terrans_; I do not care if your mate is former civilian, she is now a _Terran_, and your squad mate. Is that _**CLEAR**_?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"I didn't hear you…"

"YES, MA'AM!"

Gunny Sink scrubbed at her ear, "I still didn't hear you…"

"_**YES, MA'AM!" **_

"That's better, we can get rid of some of the Mickey Mouse bullshit. You are all volunteers; you have all been through the med tanks so there are no health issues. The medics and the tanks tell me that, but I have my doubts. I think a bit of roadwork will help to remove those doubts. After all, you are CIVILIAN healthy, not MARINE healthy." She turned, "Sergeant Sergetov?"

The blonde Russian barked, "Ri… face! On the RIGHT!" She hoisted the platoon banner and started off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, that was refreshing," Gunny Sink told the platoon. "Still, a mere ten klicks is a stroll to the mess hall, I have three weeks to turn you people into proper Marines." She turned, "Sergeant Fukumi?"

The Japanese turned and braced. "Gunny Sink?"

"Dismiss to showers, ten minutes. Dress for zero gee drill."

"Yes, ma'am!" She saluted, turned, and shouted, "A-TEN-shun!" The platoon braced, and she continued, "DIS-miss to showers!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Apparently I'm not the only former male," 'Mike' said, slapping the scar on her right hip. "Last year, seeing this would have gotten me hard," she said, indicating the room full of wet, naked women cleaning themselves.

"Da," the shorthaired blonde next to her agreed. She rinsed her hair; "It is still better than my dying of cancer, or my own Army days of wooden barracks in Siberia, waiting for the Chinese to cross the border."

"I'm surprised you lot aren't whinging about your missing packages," a Scottish girl said, an Irish lass adding, "Welcome to the sorority."

"It's an adjustment," 'Mike' said. "I'm young and healthy again; my brain isn't trapped in a useless body, kept alive by tubes and drugs, I'm firing on all cylinders again. The docs gave me these options to choose, I figured wearing a skirt instead of a jock is a small price to pay."

"Da, what we wear is nothing," 'Tatya' said. "We can see the stars; be aboard ship again with good comrades."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We will now address questions, I will remove my hat," Gunny Sink said that evening, removing her campaign hat and putting it aside. She turned a folding chair and straddled it, adding, "You know the score. We are merging the training and doctrine of the world's Marine and Naval Infantry; it is an on-going process. First question," and she pointed.

"I see most of the recruits are female, here and in other companies, any reason?"

"Is there something wrong with being female?" Gunny Sink replied, to various chuckles. "You would have discussed this with the medical types before intake, that's not my concern. The med-tanks, as I said, make you physically healthy, which eliminate a lot of the PT time from Basic. However, speaking in general, we are not expected to go toe-to-toe with a gorilla, but to serve as shipboard and port security. The odds are against your going up against a physically larger species like a Khund; if you do it will be in the nature of a bar fight. Should you go up against that Khund, you'll be trained on physical combat with various humanoid species in the holo tanks, both barehanded and with a variety of weapons, primarily small arms, but also vulnerable points for a knife." She drew a long blade from a boot sheath, displaying it.

"Right now, a good percentage of the recruits we're getting are either prior service with medical problems, or others that were declined by their home country's armed forces. Since we run everyone through a med-tank first, how he or she chooses to come out is his or her decision. For now, most of those happen to be female."

"I'll tell you why I signed up," 'Mike' said. "I was lying in a VA home, my mind was still sharp, but I was drooling into a bib, being kept alive by tubes and pills." She sat up, "I'm a lifer, and you know the saying, Gunny, there's no such thing as an ex-Marine…"

"… Only one not in uniform," she finished. "You can transfer your salad. When did you sign up?"

"Early 1948, my first battle was Pusan. I was finally invalidated out by Chosin, a hell of a fight that was." She was silent for a minute, "Now, I can serve again, and defend not only my country, but my planet. If the best way to do that means I serve an Empire and wear a skirt, then I'll make my oath to the Empire and wear a fuckin' skirt."

"Da," 'Tatya' agreed. "I served Sovetskaya Armiya in the Sixteenth Military District against the Chinese heathens. The motherland could do nothing for my wounds, but the Empire would. I am most interested in this armor."

"You'll be individually fitted for that, and trained on use and maintenance," Sgt. Fukumi said. "The combat armor is vacuum rated, and gives you a lot of strength, you can pick up and throw several hundred kilos with it; I did that in my own training." She took a sip of her beer; "I'll admit being female; there are some cultural and physical adjustments to get past. For me, I think it was second day; it hit me when I had to sit down to urinate. That was, for me, the mental point where I had to take a deep mental breath and adjust to a different perspective, to being treated differently. You either get past that point on your own, or your mates will help."

"There is also misdirection to any pirate that tries to board, or hostile ground forces," Sergetov added. "They will expect civilians and ship's crew; not combat troops."

"The pirates can't be that stupid," 'Mike' said.

"The vast majority of civilian ships targeted do not resist attack and boarding, therefore the pirates are accustomed to arrogance and having their way," Sergetov said. "This is why your ships have been refitted with mil-spec weapon mounts and a larger primary reactor, the original one being remounted as secondary in order to be main power for the weapons and shields."

"Private companies like Greywolf and DHL will also receive lower insurance rates if they either accept Imperial Marines as shipboard security, or run their crews through our training," Sgt. Fukumi said. "We have had several attacks on our ships, which is why we have naval crews, and three instances where pirates actually boarded."

"Do we have to learn all the makeup bullshit?"

"You should be familiar with it," Gunny Sink replied. "It's like wearing combat makeup, the black and green paint. It's not required by regs, and I wouldn't wear it when exercising, it can be overdone, you'll look like a camp follower, a base slut. Less is more," and she looked around. "Moving on, next question?"

"You mentioned small arms…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, August 1, 2002: 11:23 (GMT)  
Terran system, L5 orbital yards, Inspection shuttle 41:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"We're fortunate, in a way, that whoever built the _Wisdom_ riveted her together," the commander said. "It makes it much easier to dismantle her."

"Hai," the senior engineer from Tanaka Heavy Industries agreed. He pursed his lips inside his suit helmet. "I only wish we could board her."

"Our personnel are clearing anything sensitive or dangerous at the moment," the commander said. "Another day or so. You've got deck plans and such, and we'll have missiles available to dismantle. She's not pressure-tight, so we're going ahead and stripping out bulkhead insulation before we take her sections apart." He looked at the various industry representatives, "Once we have an idea of how she's put together, we can analyze and improve on her, because we're going to be building ships. Not just warships, but passenger ships and freighters."

"As well as system defense installations," the Deutsche Marine representative said. He turned slightly, "Be patient, my friend. That ship there is worth billions of Euros. What we need to do is rough plans for factory layouts in orbit."

"Ja," the Mercedes fellow said. "We have asteroids for material and unlimited solar power for our forges and presses, and kilometers of space to work in. We have barely scratched the surface of this, we can move our heavy, polluting equipment off-planet."

"Keeping the lighter, more delicate work like electronics and coach-building on planet," the GE agent said. "Give the commander his days to make it safe. We can put the time to productive, profitable use."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 2, 2002: 06:01 (GMT)  
**_Scythe_**, Eridani Outbound:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"What do we do with her?" J'lan asked as they looked at the unconscious form of Ms. Laval. She had tried to leave the ship, against orders, and a brief wizard's duel had ensued between the voudou priestess and Frank.

"One thing a slave ship has is lots of chains," Sandra commented dryly, and there were snorts of agreement. "Let's put her in a stasis tube and let Eunomia worry about her when we get back," she decided. "We're on a fairly tight time schedule to Eta Orionis." She regarded the five 'room girls', "You decide if you want to play hotel slave again?"

"We'll stay in the cell, ma'am, as long as you buy your room slaves and the room supervisory slave," 22416 said. "Her number should be on the reports she filed on the last visit."

"Hard to believe that was only a few months ago," another girl said, and looked at the clock. "Please excuse me, my watch starts in a few minutes."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 2, 2002: 07:45 (GMT)  
Terra, London, University of London:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Pomona Sprout's mobile rang; she plucked it out of her pocket, setting a hover charm on her takeaway tea, "Hello?" She listened for a moment, then nodded, "Let me ask, please wait," and turned to ask, "Severus, Filius? I have Intelligence Operations on the mobile; Frank MacDonald referred them to me. They need someone that is a recent graduate that took Potions, Charms and Herbology NEWTS, not in a long-term career, and that can keep secrets. I can only think of two or three…"

"Hanna Abbot was decent with a cauldron," Severus replied. "On the other hand, I believe she is engaged to Longbottom, which gives me pause regarding her intelligence."

Filius snorted, "Ms. Abbot was able with a wand, but her involvement with Mr. Longbottom is a factor," he agreed. "I might suggest Ms. Branstone or Mr. Thomas, Dean Thomas, that is."

"Branstone and Thomas are both muggleborn," Severus commented, stroking his chin. "Thomas was adequate with a cauldron, despite his handicap of being in Gryffindor. I would endorse Branstone, and I don't believe she is intimate with anyone at the moment."

Pomona nodded, and returned to the call, "Yes, I have a suggestion, although I don't have contact information at the moment. Eleanor Branstone or Dean Thomas." She nodded again, "Certainly, I can get that for you; it would be later today, though." She flicked her wand, conjuring paper and quill and making notes. "Thank you, and have a good day yourself." Closing her mobile, she added a bit to her notes, banishing the quill and pocketing the paper.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 2, 2002: 07:55 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Luton airport (international arrivals):****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The Learjet's gear touched down with a thump, and Teela looked out the window. Unfortunately, she couldn't really see anything, just a lot of cracked concrete and various colored signs and lights in the grass. Ahead of her, Mrs. Wayne was discussing something with Mom. She started to put her things away in the carryon; Tomas leaned forward as he did the same, "At least we do not have to worry about lost luggage."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mrs. Morton? Mrs. Wayne? I'm Perkins with SO-1," the neatly dressed man said as they cleared Customs. He displayed a badge, adding, "My colleagues with the Secret Service should have briefed you in."

"Yes…" Mrs. Morton said. "You'll forgive me, but I'm not overjoyed at having bodyguards."

"I do apologize," Perkins replied. "We'll try to stay out of your way. For now, we've transport laid on to your lodgings."

"A hotel?" Julie asked.

"Much nicer than a hotel, Miss Morton." Perkins said with a small smile.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oh, my God…" Julie whispered, eyes wide. "This is…"

"Buckingham Palace…" Teela replied, as the vans turned in the vehicle entrance.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Oi, there you are!" the young man said as the vans stopped under the portico. He worked the door handle, helping Maggie Morton out. "I'm Harry, this is my older brother Wills. Welcome to London, Mrs. Morton." Maggie turned toward the back of the van, and Wills waved a hand, "Don't worry about the luggage, ma'am; it's handled. Gran wanted to meet you all, after you've had a chance to freshen up."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Do we need, like, a pass or something?" Little Bill asked, wide eyed.

Harry snorted, "We can if you want, a souvenir, like. This is what's known as the Ambassador's Entrance, Gran's set you up in the Belgian Suite, garden apartments on the north side." He ushered them through a door, then smiled and waved at the tourists held behind velvet ropes as camera flashes went off a few feet away. He moved over, signing a few autographs with Wills. An American shouted, "Who're they?"

"Relatives of Miss Wayne," Harry replied. "Visiting London for talks and to see the sights."

Selina strolled over, shaking a few hands, "Hello, I'm Selina Wayne, nice to meet you. She accepted a pen from Wills with a nod, signing a few autographs as someone asked, "Catlady, are you still on the JLA?"

"I'm retired, and on the reserve list, but I still consult occasionally" she replied. Someone asked, "What can you tell us about Arrowhead?"

"I really don't have any more information than what I've seen in the news," she replied. "Mattie's off-planet at the moment, I haven't talked to her since she left for Ecuador."

"Going to a footie?" someone called.

"I'll try to catch one if we have time," she replied, signing one more autograph and then stepping back, giving a wave as she was ushered through a door. "Very nicely handled, Mrs. Wayne," Wills said. "By the by, this is the East Gallery…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Selina… do you know what's going on?" Maggie asked.

"A bit," she replied. "Mattie has been off-planet for a while, but I've still gotten a few hints. Apparently our children are the founding members of the Terran Empire." She looked over her teacup at Maggie and sighed, "Lord knows I was happy with what she was doing earlier, but this…" Selina shrugged, "My own feelings are mixed; we've never held ourselves up as royalty."

"And Arthur would be some form of consort," Maggie said. She nodded, "I agree, I'm not comfortable with the trappings of royalty, I know your daughter has tried to keep common contact."

"Even when it exposes her to risk," Selina agreed, and waved a hand. "Probably why all the security, you know there's a price on her head, which just puts your family at risk." There was a tapping on the door, and they turned as it opened.

"Good morning," a pleasant, middle-aged woman with short reddish hair said. "I'm Lady Sarah," and Maggie sucked in her breath in recognition. "I do apologize, I overheard your comment about royalty." She smoothed her skirt and sat down, "Might I speak frankly, Mrs. Morton?" Maggie nodded as she continued, "Like it or not, luv, when your son Arthur got on that Hogwarts train with Miss Wayne, his destiny was written." She raised a hand, "We do have some experience with this, while a Royal looks different, we all put our shoes on the same way, and our feet hurt just the same. Now, they might be hand-made shoes, instead of bought off the rack, but they are still shoes."

"I get this too," Selina said. "I have a few more zeros in my bank accounts, although Mattie has beaten me there, but the car I usually drive isn't my Jaguar, but a eighteen-year old Ford station wagon."

"Precisely," Sarah said. She settled back, accepting the cup of tea Selina gave her, "Diana, may she rest in peace, would take her boys out to eat, and she shopped for groceries at Tesco, waiting in queue like anyone else. While it gave her security people fits, she thought it worthwhile. Elizabeth served in the Women's Auxiliary, having the rank of Second Subaltern in the war, even though she was a Princess of the Blood at the time." She took a sip of tea, "We do try to stay connected to ordinary people, and I encourage you to emphasize that to your children. Normally, it is done by service in some branch of the military, I understand your daughter Elena is serving in the Solar Guard?"

Maggie took a sip of tea, "I don't like the presence of… of… bodyguards, and escort cars, and all this…"

Sarah took a sip of tea, then set the cup and saucer down with a click. "My dear, nobody likes it. However, you and your family will need to adjust to the presence of security now, to having bodyguards. There is too much risk; otherwise, there are too many fanatics. They do try to give at least the illusion of privacy, but that's all it is, luv, an illusion." She glanced at Selina, "What happened just a month or so ago in Metropolis. Dear, even if your Arthur were to completely separate himself from Miss Wayne, he, and the rest of your family would still be at risk, only then without the resources you have now. Like it or not, you are now subject to life in a fishbowl, your every move being stalked by paparazzi. Your daughter Teela's art will be subject to ruthless, brutal examination, your children's school marks analyzed. You must be paragons of virtue, you can no longer be simply human."

"However," Selina said, "a small compensation is that causes, charities you believe in and support will now have far greater influence, and your calls will climb the corporate ladder far more quickly." She smiled slightly, "I daresay the University would not dare to fire you unless you were to dance naked on the front lawn."

"Should you do that," Sarah added with a chuckle, "A video would immediately be put on the Internet, and a critique would also be posted of your style." She sobered, "Harry and Wills are taking your children shopping for their Hogwarts school supplies, and they are also giving them a version of this talk." She took one more sip of tea, then said, "I would suggest you take the opportunity to visit the loo, then we'll go upstairs to see Elizabeth."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"One of the many secrets," Wills said; opening the door to the subterranean room. "This floo connection was installed in… what was it?"

"Fifteen and four, milord," a ghost said, bowing and tugging at his forelock. "During the last few years of Henry VII, milord, God love him. Honored, I was…"

"Thank you, Brumly. On duty for five hundred years," Wills said, and Brumly replied, "Not missed a day, milord, guarding milord's fire…" One of the living guards said, "If you're going to Diagon, milords and ladies, there's a problem with the house's fireplace gas, you'll need to use the Cauldron's fire."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 2, 2002: 08:20 (GMT)  
Terra, London, The Leaky Cauldron:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Edward Nigma accepted the cup of tea from Mr. Dumbledore, as he poured one for Emma. She nodded politely in gratitude, waiting for her elders to take the first sip, before Edward said, "That's what I find most peculiar, sir. Magic seems to obey none of the rules the rest of the universe obeys."

"It follows its own rules," Albus replied, and his wand, an old one with a somewhat spiraled shaft appeared. He reversed it, handing it to Emma. "Wave it about, dear," and she did so, yellow and red sparks coming out the end. "Well, well. That is interesting," he commented with a raised eyebrow. Placing his bar rag on the counter, he placed a hand over hers, "My dear, we're going to try levitating that bit of cloth. Follow along with me, we _swish_ and _flick_, the spell is _wingardium_ _leviosa_."

The bell for the door to Charing Cross and muggle London rang, a petite young woman with reddish hair appeared, leading a group of approximately twenty new Hogwarts students and their parents as the cloth floated in the air. Emma squeaked, the cloth dropped, and Edward reached her for a hug as Albus calmly claimed his wand again. "Good morning, Ginny. I presume these are some of the new firsties?"

"Yes, Albus," she replied with a smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, Albus Dumbledore, former headmaster of Hogwarts, now retired, chief Mugwump of the court system, the Wizengamot…"

"And let us not forget, my dear, my most important post, that of your host. Tea, anyone?" As a vertical stream of tea appeared out of thin air, splashing into cups, Albus asked, "Ginevra, might I borrow your wand for a moment?" She gave it over with a raised eyebrow, and he gave it to Emma again. "Once again, dear. _Swish_ and _flick_, and the spell is _wingardium_ _leviosa_." Hesitantly, Emma whispered the words, and the tea towel floated upward, somewhat unsteadily; Albus remarking, "I believe you have another student, my dear."

They all turned as the pub's large fireplace flared with green flame, a fellow stepped out, dressed in a suit, followed by another. They looked around, then stood facing into the room as the fire flared green again, and people started to come out. Albus looked calmly on, simply asking, "Balmoral?"

"No, sir," one of the SO-1 blokes said. "Buckingham," and there were small screams as the Princes were recognized.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Eleanor Branstone squeezed her little sister May's hand as she saw the Royals step out of the floo. Her eyebrow went up as she recognized the two younger Mortons and Wayne's adopted younger brother behind the security blokes. When she heard the reply 'Buckingham' she started to add things together. One thing she had never told anyone was Alastair the Hat's desire to place her in Slytherin years ago. However, that had been during the time of the Dark Lord, a number of his supporters were Slytherin, and as a muggle-born witch she had been concerned for her safety, thus leaving her in Hufflepuff. A fellow with a green necktie and a gold-coloured question mark on it finished his private chat with his daughter; she was wearing one of those horrible slave collars. She decided to be friendly, and extended her hand, "Eleanor Branstone, and this is my sister May."

"How do you do," the fellow replied politely with an American accent, giving a slight bow. "Edward Nigma, and this is my adoptive daughter Emma. I do confess to some nerves, while I've been to visit Hogwarts before, I didn't expect Emma might be a student there." He wrapped his arms around his daughter comfortingly, and she looked up at him. He remarked to his daughter, "Are you certain? Hogwarts is a boarding school, you would be living with several other young women like yourself, not with mum or I."

She took a breath, "No, father, I am far from certain, but if my path to the Source leads me to the trade of the zarroji, I must tread that path."

Mr. Nigma gave a half-grunt, looking down at his daughter, "While you would not be living with her, mum will be there at school, and I will be no further than Mars' orbit." He glanced at Eleanor, "I am somewhat relieved this is happening today, this allows time for us to make a quick dash out to Eunomia and have her collar removed before school starts." His mouth twisted slightly, "I swore I would never go off-planet again, but for Emma, I will modify that vow to 'never leave the system again'."

"Mars is the… third planet?" she asked.

"Fourth, dearie; we're the third," Eleanor replied. "Mr. Nigma, Ginny, the lady leading the tour group, is a semi-official 'house mum' for the school, and she does a good business. She addressed both her little sister and Emma, "If you have a problem that you can't take to a teacher or head of house, or someone in your house can't help you with it, you can see Ginny, she'll sort it out." She glanced at Mr. Nigma, "What will you be doing out at Mars?"

"Knowing that there is more than one source for assistance is reassuring. For myself, my price, which I will gladly pay for Aurora and Emma, is to help in the examination of the captured light cruiser, and work on the design of our own warships." He gave Emma another squeeze of a hug; then said, "It looks like we're going, now. I wonder what's first?"

"Setting up our accounts at Gringotts," Eleanor said. "Fortunately, we've already done that."

"As have we," Mr. Nigma said. "If you don't object, we'll stick with you, as you've done this before."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Harry and Tomas dragged two of Florean Fortescue's iron tables together on his patio, while the security people formed a loose box around them. A house elf appeared to take their orders, then vanished back into the ice cream shop. "Climb on up, mate," Wills said, and Carson took his place on his back, squirmed a bit; settling down comfortably.

Becky accepted the cup of tea from the elf, saying, "I can take him…" but he waved her off. "I love kids," he admitted as his younger brother cast a privacy spell around their tables. "Can't wait to have a couple of my own. He's no trouble." He leaned forward, "Gran asked us to speak to you, getting the Hogwarts supplies was a convenient excuse."

Harry took a sip of tea, "I don't know what you've heard about the new Terran Empire, but your relatives, Arthur and Mattie are in the middle. That puts you lot in the spotlight, not to their extent, but you are now far more likely to wind up on a tabloid's cover, your lives under a microscope." He took another sip, "Gran and Auntie Sarah are meeting with your mums, and once school starts, I'll be sitting down with Arthur, and cousin Beatrice here will be meeting with Mattie regarding royal behavior." He set the cup down in the saucer with a click. "You lot, on the other hand, while not under the same scrutiny…"

"Will have every move analyzed," Beatrice said. "For both, but primarily the ladies, it is not just who you speak to, but what you're wearing, including any makeup, and how you conduct yourself in public. Your health will be scrutinized, every pimple and rash commented on. God forbid you ever lose your temper, or even be short with anyone, you must be perfectly polite at all times, no matter if the person you're speaking to has horrible teeth or bad breath." She looked around the table, "Tomas, the press will seek out and interview your relatives in Puerto Rico, Teela, your art will be criticized and compared to the great masters like Rembrandt." She held up a hand, "Yes, it's not fair, but it's who you are now, and you have no greater chance to escape it than we do."

"That … well, we'll have to go around with security and bodyguards?" Becky asked. "At work, at school?"

"I don't know what the specific plans are," Wills replied. "We have personal bodyguards because we're in the line of succession to the Crown. You lot is more at risk of being taken hostage; I would think you'd have a bobby or three around at all times. They would work with school or your workplace security, and install greater security around your home."

"I remember when Carson…" Becky said. "I was so frightened…"

Wills reached up to adjust the child on his back, "Unfortunately, it is better to have the security and not need it. The security blokes understand they're imposing, but their duty is to keep you safe, miss. All they ask is that you keep them informed. They really don't like unscheduled and unplanned, it makes their lives harder."

"What about school?" Julie asked.

"Hogwarts? You should be safe enough," Harry said. "For muggle schools, the security blokes will coordinate with the school, and talk with your mum. Probably have a bobby outside the classroom; one driving you about. After you graduate, it depends on what you do, but no matter where you go, your folder will be stamped in bright red letters: PI, for Political Influence." He took a sip of tea, "College, and I do suggest you plan on going, will necessitate bodyguards, and once again your work will be held up to scrutiny."

"Something I am not looking forward to," Beatrice said. "I'm dyslexic, and while I have tutors, examinations are hard for me. Still, you must convert a weakness to a strength, and I've done so by promoting early education and the learning disabled." She grimaced slightly, "I would prefer it not get out, but it has, so you must look for the silver lining."

"The life of a royal isn't all paparazzi," Harry said. "The beginning of the new year is always a bit of a pain, until your housemates realize you're just like them, you do homework and get yelled at by Snape." He grimaced in turn, "If anything, he comes down especially hard on 'celebrities'." He nodded at Julie, "You will be getting a lot of attention from him, both being well-known and he's not particularly fond of Gryffindor. In addition, you'll get a lot of notice from the firsties; until they learn you're a Lion like they are." He reached over to brush back a lock of Carson's hair, "One problem is dating; I just want to be Harry, not (he finger-quoted) 'The Prince', third in line…" He sighed, "There's something to be said for arranged marriages…"

"Even if you don't date," Beatrice said, "I want to concentrate on my education, but there are the little side-duties of a royal; ribbon cuttings, charity events and such. There's always a need for those blokes who aren't interested in other work." She smiled, "Any questions?"

"We'll have no privacy," Teela asked.

"In public? Very little," Beatrice replied. "With friends, you can relax, I'm just Bea to them."

"Mattie has a 'kitchen cabinet' she uses at school," Harry said, and Julie nodded. "When she visits, she kicks off her shoes and goes barefoot, she relaxes then. Otherwise, she's on stage."

"Well phrased," Wills said. "We have a public mask that we wear, being able to take it off in the company of friends is a relief."

"We cherish those friends," Beatrice said. "And now, shall we once again trod the boards, and go public?" She grinned, "There's shopping to do!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Emma hesitantly mounted the small stage, giving back her father's phone after talking to her mum; putting her arms out so she could be measured. As he resumed his call, one of the shop's girls let loose a small device which crawled all over, then zipped back to the girl's hand. "One moment, luv," the rather busty girl said, and disappeared into the back as the bell rang with new customers. Eleanor turned, gasped, then hastily curtseyed, "Milords, milady," she said.

"Crikey, Eleanor, give it a rest," Prince Harry said, standing so Julie could take a chair. "You're not like this in Room 13."

"That's different, milord," she replied, but Harry had offered his hand. "Good morning, sir," he said to Eddie. "You look familiar. Have we met?"

"I don't believe so," he replied, putting his phone away. "Edward Nigma, and my daughter Emma."

"Ah, the delightful American egalitarianism," Harry replied with a laugh. "I'm Harry, and your fellow Yanks Tomas Wayne, Julie and Bill Morton." He shook hands; then again with Emma and May, who squealed in delight. The rather busty girl came back, arms full of black cloth, whose eyes widened when she recognized him. "Oi, Parv, how's the shop going?" he asked casually. "I've brought you a bit of business."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Eleanor's mobile rang, she flipped it open, "Branstone," she said, then stiffened and stepped to the side, bracing the phone against her shoulder and conjuring a pad and pen. She made some notes, then said, "I'll consider it and get back to you. Yes, within a day or so. Thank you," and flipped the mobile closed, blowing the fringe of hair over her forehead. May looked at her big sister, sliding her new wand into her sleeve holster. "What's on?" she asked.

"That was Imperial Intelligence," she replied, and Edward looked over at her. "Canary Wharf offices?" She nodded, "How do you know?"

"I am on their reserve list," he replied. "Are they offering you a position off-world?" Eleanor nodded, and he sighed, "There is great beauty, but also great cruelty. You will undoubtedly encounter slaves," and he took a deep breath. "Did they say which world?"

"The one that's been in the news, Windfall. Can you tell me about it?"

"It is a tropical world, the natives are shorter than we are, but a bit stronger, despite the gravity being less than ours," he replied. "The government was an oligarchy when I was there, but I understand my niece was planning on doing something about that…"

"Niece?"

"Miss Wayne. She was planning on 'adjusting' the government, I will not be sorry to see their Council of Elders go. Old, corrupt men who are only interested in lining their pockets. Make certain your salary is in a Terran currency, and paid to Lantern Bank," he advised. "The only interstellar banking network," he added. "The population is primarily female, the technology is a curious mix of animal-powered and electrical, the rough equivalent of the 1940's for us. Does that help?"

"It does, thank you," she replied as Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat, "Seven and six, please, guv."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Beatrice and Wills sat on a bench outside the clothing shop with Becky and Teela, Carson still sleeping on Wills' back. Bea cradled a cup of takeaway tea from which she sipped occasionally. The security blokes kept the onlookers away, although there were the occasional camera flashes. Bea sighed and sat back, taking a last swallow of tea. "Ah, this is nice, to be able to simply sit and watch the world go by." She twisted, aimed, and her thrown teacup bounced off the rim of a rubbish can. One of the security blokes picked it up and dropped it in; there was a burp and a belch of fire from the can.

"You'll never make the basketball team with shooting like that," Teela said, and Bea laughed. "Seriously, have you thought about what you're going to do with your life?" she asked Bea.

"Why, MI-6, of course," she said, and waggled her eyebrows. "Bond. Beatrice Bond." Wills snorted at that, and she said, "Well, how likely is it that I'd be Queen? I'm fifth in line, and whilst cutting ribbons and launching ships is all well and good, there's a sense of…" she waved her hand in a spiral as she searched for the term.

"_Noblesse oblige_?" Becky asked.

"Precisely! Theatre studies have to be good for something!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Interesting…" Eleanor murmured, and Edward cocked an eye. She took a sip of her tea while May and Emma worked on their ice cream. "See the two redheaded blokes in the corner? They're the Weasley twins, infamous pranksters, see them in the green dragon-hide jackets?"

Edward shifted, raising his hand for the elf to order another cup of coffee and replied quietly, "Yes?"

"The tall bloke that's approaching their table is their estranged brother, Percy, and they're not hexing him arse over teakettle," she replied. "For them, that's almost friendly, and it's in public, too. They could have apparated to a lonely moor for a private meeting."

"Apparated?"

"Teleported, for want of a better term. Most wizards like myself can only do a few hundred miles, range goes up with power." The elf arrived with Edward's coffee, and Eleanor continued, "The only one that could have arranged this peaceful a meeting is Ginny. I wonder if she knew the Royals would be here today, she's definitely the most Slytherin in her family." She took a sip, "Percy has been a Ministry toady for several years now, whilst the rest of his family has been generally _opposed_ to the Ministry, they are somewhat less corrupt and incompetent, even before Miss Wayne overthrew the previous Minister Fudge's administration." She took another sip, adding, "The first coup she engineered. I wonder if this has anything to do with the Slytherin Grand Council a few months ago…" She looked at her younger sister, "May, when you get to Hogwarts, there is an unofficial school saying I want you to remember. '_Don't fuck with Wayne_.' Got that?"

"I find myself wondering why you'd say that about my niece," Edward asked.

Eleanor took a sip of tea, gathering her thoughts. "You know there are four residential Houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin?" The other three nodded. "Of those, Gryffindor is the 'white knights', known for courage, Hufflepuff is known for loyalty and steadfastness, being the 'worker bees', Ravenclaw is the 'brains', the types who will research, forgoing food, sleep, and hygiene, and lastly, Slytherins are the business people, the 'grey eminence', the string pullers who work from the shadows. Ambitious and clever." She took a sip of tea, "Of the four, Hufflepuff is numerically the largest, Slytherin the smallest. However, Slytherin has by far the most political, social, and economic power and influence."

Finishing her tea, she waved for a refill, "Miss Wayne is, in many ways, a classic Slytherin. She does have an altruistic side, but she uses it to make money and extend her influence, which goes far beyond this planet." The elf popped in with her tea, she thanked him politely. "The elves are an example. Before her rather bloodless coup d'état of the Ministry, they were little better than slaves, the result of a thousand-year old treaty ending the elf-goblin wars. She engineered a political solution in which the elves gained their freedom, and they made money. What's more, she gained influence with both the Elf Council and the goblins." She blew on her tea, "I'm sure you noticed that Gringotts is the banker for Arrowhead and the Solar Guard. That means billions of pounds flowing through their vaults, needless to say, should Miss Wayne need a kindness, they'll be only too happy to comply." She gestured across the tiled courtyard to where the royals conferred with the Waynes under a privacy spell. "Prince Harry graduated with me, yet he, his older brother William and their cousin Beatrice are here, doing the school shopping, and they're kipping at Buckingham Palace." She turned to her younger sister, "May, assuming you're not Sorted into Slytherin, regarding Miss Wayne, she won't mind a prank or two, as long as it's not mean-spirited."

"That's part of the fun," a young woman's voice said. Edward shifted to look, and a young teenage witch smiled at them. Offering her hand, "Sorry to interrupt. Ami Bones, I room with the Queen, and if you manage to prank her, you're doing better than we have. To expand, just don't position yourself as a threat, because she will grind you to dust and mail you to Mongolia. You might want to sign up for the DA as well as her self-defense class that she teaches Sunday afternoons in the Huffie gym."

"You're one of her roommates," Edward said. "What can you tell me about my niece?"

"Bloody hell," Ami said, blowing her fringe of hair. "Let's see, workaholic, can be rather obsessive, chronically sleep-deprived and somewhat paranoid," Ami said. She nodded, accepting a cuppa from the elf. "Don't worry about your daughter, sir," and she turned to focus on the two girls. "For you two, I would suggest forming your own study group with your year-mates. What one of you has trouble with, someone else can help, and trade-about." She glanced at Eleanor, "Any other questions this particular Snake can answer?"

"I do find it interesting that you didn't go into Hufflepuff…"

Ami smirked, "You should have been there my first Christmas home: '_Slytherin? How could you be a Slytherin?_' She took a sip of tea, "Some families have been so strongly identified with a particular House for so many centuries it's almost automatic; the Bones family with Hufflepuff, the Blacks with Slytherin, the Weasleys with Gryffindor. Still, there's always an odd sheep in the family." She shrugged, put her empty cup on the table, and said, "Good luck to the both of you, and enjoy the Sorting," then moved off, losing herself in the crowd.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Aurora stepped back into the classroom, doing a small dance before taking her seat. Professor Knewell raised an eyebrow, "Ms. Sinestra, you're obviously happy about something. Care to share?"

"Emma is a firstie! She got sparks with Albus' wand, then did _wingardium_ with it and Ginny's wands!" She danced again; then reluctantly retook her seat.

"Excellent! I look forward to having her in my class!" Filius said.

"What colour were the sparks?" Pomona asked.

"Yellow and red, according to Edward. He's going to take her through Diagon, then out to Eunomia to remove her collar." Aurora danced in her seat again; singing, "My daughter's a firstie!"

"Why two wands, and what's wingardium?" a muggle student asked. Another asked, "What about sparks?"

"Albus uses the Elder Wand, an exceptionally powerful wand, while Ginny, my wife, uses a more ordinary wand," Harry explained. "If Emma was able to do it with both wands, it eliminates the Elder Wand as a factor. Congratulations, Aurora, I look forward to having her in my classes."

"_Wingardium_is a levitation charm, and the first one taught," Filius added. "The sparks sometimes will indicate the student's house, but not always. Congratulations, Aurora. What's next?"

"Edward is going to be working on that light cruiser, taking it apart and studying it so we might make our own…"

"All very well, but we must resume," Professor Knewell said, rapping his knuckles on the desk.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 2, 2002: 13:15 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Texas A&M, College of Agriculture, Dean's office:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Thank you," Elizabeth said to the mailroom courier, who took her outgoing letters and gave her a smile. She shook some of the rain off the box with the yellow DHL stickers, casually looking at the return address, and gave a small scream.

"What?" Dr. Franklin asked, turning around from the coffee pot. Elizabeth held up the fairly good-sized box, waving it back and forth, "Return address is London - Arrowhead!"

"We made it?" he half-asked. "Every university on the planet was competing for one of those slots."

"If we struck out, it would be a letter, not a box, wouldn't it?"

"Yes..." he said. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Call the University President's office. Dr. Lawrence wanted to know, I think he wants to be there when that box is opened."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Okay, I'm ready," Dr. Franklin said, clutching the thick binders that had copies of their submission for one of the twenty-four sites. Dr. Lawrence nodded, took a deep breath, and slit the tape holding the box closed while Elizabeth crossed herself.

Dr. Lawrence reached in, pulling out an A4 size white envelope, and said, "It's addressed to 'Site 17'. That's good, isn't it?" The other two didn't answer him, and he turned the envelope, opening the clasp. "Okay, let's see... Applicant school #223, Texas A & M University, College Station, Texas, USA. Congratulations, you have been assigned site number seventeen, located at latitude forty two..." he waved his hand, "...yada, yada..." He put his head back and exhaled. "We made it. WE MADE IT!" He threw the letter in the air, and met the others in a group hug.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So what else is in the box?" Elizabeth asked, and pulled out a large folded cloth. "Oh, it's a flag!" A bit of paper fluttered out, she picked it up, "You are requested to fly this alongside any college flag instead of a national flag, as this colonization is an international effort."

"Sounds reasonable," Dr. Lawrence said, looking up from the paperwork. "We're on the east coast, our closest neighbors are Polish and Mexican, about a hundred kilometers away." He waved, "We're going to have to shift over to the metric system, instead of gallons and miles. Even currency is in grams of tungsten." He got up, "Let's see our new flag," and helped Elizabeth to unfold it. A thin strip of light green under another strip of light blue was on the bottom of the black flag, with a silvery disk for the moon above it. The top two-thirds of the flag was simple, solid black.

"I have a camera," Dr. Franklin said. "Let me go and get it."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

_To: TAMU-offworld-group  
From: Ag department  
Date: August 2, 2002  
Subject: Offworld research site_

_Howdy! _

_To those who signed up for offworld studies: TAMU has been selected from several hundred universities around the world for one of twenty-four sites on the colony world of Windfall. As this is a yearlong opportunity, we are restricting this to those over 18 on or before September first, the date we break orbit. Relatives are welcome on a space-available basis; we prefer not to have children under 15. You will be held responsible for their behavior and education._

_Please note this is a VIRGIN PLANET. There is risk of bodily injury and death. While precautions have been taken, we cannot anticipate every contingency. Please make certain your affairs are in order, forwarding a certified, registered copy of your will to Ms. Elizabeth Brandt in the Dean's office. Please instruct your physician to forward a copy of your medical and dental records to Dr. McCarl in the University Health department. Please discuss with your physician the placement of two implants: a translation unit in your jaw and a legal and health recording implant in your hip (left for females, right for males). These are injectible, an outpatient procedure. If you or your physician has questions, please contact Dr. McCarl. _

_The location we have been assigned is on the single continent's east coast, about the same latitude as Boston. We do not have climate records; please assume we will experience both deep snow and hot summers and pack appropriate clothing and equipment. _

_The majority of heavy cargo (machine tools, lathes, other equipment) will be shipped on an accompanying freighter, the personnel transport will accommodate up to 550kg of household supplies per person. This is bedding, kitchen supplies and so forth; please pack a carry-on with two weeks of clothing, including both summer and winter gear for the trip. This is not a cruise ship, while there is exercise equipment, you will need to provide entertainment for the flight._

_Lastly, there is a slave resettlement office on Windfall, as part of this, the young women will be living and learning with us. _

_Please make certain you are comfortable with the use of firearms, if you possess legal weapons; please forward ammunition requirements to the University. Firearms will be shipped in DOT approved sealed containers, please make sure identification is inside and out. _

_We will be having an organizational meeting in Kleburg Center's auditorium on Monday and Tuesday, August fifth and sixth starting at 8 am. There will be an introductory cocktail party the night before in the lobby of the Kleburg Center starting at 7 pm. Dress is casual._

_Gig 'em, Aggies! _

_Dr. Lawrence Franklin  
Dean  
College of Agriculture  
Texas A&M University_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 2, 2002: 16:52 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Waco, TX, Jourdain apartment:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Angela kicked the door shut, letting out a small moan as she toed off her shoes. She sniffed, "What's that, dear?"

Her husband Bob replied from the kitchen of their small apartment, "I thought you'd like to relax a bit, I got some fresh Italian bread to go with the pasta and," he made an appearance, handing her a glass of wine. "It's Friday!"

"So tell me, why did you leave Heaven?" she asked, sipping the red wine.

He scooped up her shoes, stuffing them in the top of her purse. "As much as you complain about the price of hosiery, you run around in stockings a lot."

"It's a girl thang," she replied. She gave a huge sigh, "I'm going to change. How much longer for the spaghetti?"

"Mere spaghetti? No, this is hand made lasagna, young lady. You've got a good ten minutes, so march!"

"Yessir," she said, saluting him with the half-empty wineglass.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Angela booted her laptop to collect her mail while she changed. Half listening to the familiar pings, she decided she really needed to do laundry tomorrow; she could start a load before doing the grocery shopping. Going back to college at her age was a pain, she thanked God they could live off Bob's salary as a machinist. Still, she wouldn't have minded taking summer courses, and she did get some income from part-time work with the county extension service.

'_Enough to pay for classes, at least_,' she thought, then blinked and looked again at her mail. She had a new message in her 'College' folder. She opened it up, standing in her blouse, stockings and panties, and read the message, then read it again. With a shaking hand, she moved the mouse, clicking on 'Print'.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hey, there," Bob said as his wife got down two tumblers, filling them each with wine. She put one in front of him, saying, "I was thinking of doing some traveling, want to come?"

"You know I like that," he said warily, picking the larger glass up and absentmindedly tapping hers in a toast. She took a good swallow, and then said, "For giggles, last term I signed up with the University for a foreign study course. I never thought anything would come of it."

"But now it has," he said. "Where? Italy?"

"Much, much further away," she replied, and took another gulp of wine. "Try off-planet. Try colonizing _ANOTHER FREAKING PLANET_."

Bob Jourdain looked at his wife, who leaned forward and tipped his tumbler of wine up with her finger. He obediently took a gulp, putting the glass down when she handed over an email printout. He took a step away from the stove as she fiddled with the gloves, pulling his lasagna out of the oven while he read.

"Y'know, you see this in the paper, you hear it on the news, on TV, but it's not really, well, real. But this, this is actually happening?" he asked. "I mean, down in Houston, they've got Johnson and NASA, but this... my god, you could be an astronaut!"

"_We_ could be, babe," she replied, taking out two servings and checking the oven was off. She took a deep breath, and then said, "The University isn't that far away. I was thinking of going to this seminar, seeing what was involved..." She looked at him, "Babe, a machinist could write his own ticket, especially with gunsmithing. Didn't you do that in the Army?"

"Yeah, but there was more demand for machinists than gunsmiths here," he said. He turned, rooting around in the 'junk drawer', and then pulling out a steno pad. Flipping to a fresh page, he said, "If I go, I'd need things like lathes and drill presses, I'd need to outfit a shop. Several shops, possibly." He held up fingers, "A blacksmith, and an associated machine shop, a woodworking shop for things like stocks, but also other things, and a gun shop. They specifically mentioned that, so that would include things like reloading ammo." He rubbed his chin, "There was the thing about apprentices, and slaves, and what would we do about the rest of your education?"

"I've only got my practicum, and a class or two," Angela replied thoughtfully. "Let's call out until Wednesday, we can go to the cocktail party and the seminar." She took a swallow of wine, "How would we afford outfitting the shop?"

"Form a 'C' Corp, maybe?" he said. "Maybe the guys in the shop would be interested in investing. What about your mom and dad?" His parents had passed away several years ago.

"If they sell the house, and we can live over the shop..." she mused, then shook herself. "The pasta's getting cold. Let's eat, we'll find a hotel and I'll RSVP for the weekend after dinner."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 3, 2002: 10:41 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Waco, TX, Ito home:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"... So that's where we are, Dad," Angela said. "This is a tremendous chance, but we wanted to talk it over with the two of you."

"A lot of risk," Mom said. "You could die. We could die, if we go with you. Then there's pirates, and slavers (she shuddered), you could be kidnapped, sold someplace..."

"True," Bob said. "However, don't forget, we would be armed, there are planetary defenses, a system defense fleet..." he took a swallow of his beer. "You look at the Solar Guard, you know that Wayne wouldn't put this up for colonization if there weren't plans, defenses."

"Right now, Mom, we're just going to the seminar, see what's planned for our little part of the planet," Angela said. She swirled her can of Diet Coke®, "Investing is part of that seminar, we figure we can form something like a 'C' Corporation."

"Now you're talking my language," Mom said. "What kind of law would there be?"

"I thought you retired," her husband said.

"One never really hangs up the shingle," Anita replied. "Like you, dear. Retired accountant, my foot!"

"They are looking for people who will take on apprentices," Bob said. "There's that slave resettlement program they mentioned."

"A chance to warp young minds," Anita joked. "No reason we can't open a small office and live over the shop, we've already got one client, our daughter, the farmer." She turned, trading a look with her husband, and then she nodded. "We're in. What time should we pick you up for the seminar tomorrow?"

Angela sat back, slightly shocked. Bob stepped in, "We'll call and change our hotel reservation. The cocktail party is at seven, we'll want a few hours to settle into the hotel, maybe take a nap. Two hour drive... how about one or so?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"That went better than I expected," Angela said in the car. "Where to now?"

"Lone Star," Bob said. "I asked some guys from work to meet us there for lunch, I think they'd be interested in investing, especially if it gives them a shot at the colony."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 4, 2002: 08:40 (GMT)  
Terran system, Luna, Archimedes crater:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Ron Howard grinned. He really couldn't help it, his company, GE, was not only equal to the European companies that had such a head start in the Arrowhead coalition, but the cruiser section he was responsible for was an engineering compartment. He leaned forward, looking through the glass into the newly dug pit as the traveling crane lowered the section onto the work stand. To his right, the bay's own overhead crane control room was manned, waiting.

He heard the rumble as the cover slid into place, dropping and locking into place. Yellow, then green lights came on as a pressure seal was achieved, and he saw the breeze blow the crane's hanging cables. Clapping his hands, he said, "Time to get to work!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 4, 2002: 10:29 (GMT)  
Terran system, 15 Eunomia, Imperial Intelligence:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Edward Nigma watched as his daughter emerged from the collaring machine, her neck finally free of her collar. She touched her throat, smiled; and went with the Healer to the med-tank.

"Well," the spook said. "She'll be out in a day or so," and he gestured. "Would you like to take a look at some information on the _Elder's Wisdom_?"

"As long as I do not have to leave the system," Edward said. "We shall be returning to Earth when she is able to, she is starting school on September first."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 4, 2002: 18:25 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Texas A&M, Kleburg Center lobby:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You don't anticipate a problem?" Dr. Franklin asked.

"Not really," Chuck answered. He was a truly massive African-American, six and a half feet tall, with a solidly muscled frame. "As long as Bob here can build machines and parts, and I have a supply of wood, we can produce just about anything but spacecraft. If the idea is 'low observable' and 'sustainable development' we should fit right in."

"Some types of machining go back to the sixteenth and seventeenth century," Bob said. "Electricity just makes material handling a bit easier. My major concern is workplace safety, and initially, we're going to be showing these girls how to do just about everything."

"It's going to be a bit different, using lasers instead of steel blades in a sawmill, and microwaves to dry the lumber, but we can adjust," Chuck admitted. His wife came up, handing him a glass of punch and taking his arm. "Literal shoptalk?" she asked.

"You know it, babe," Chuck said, giving her a squeeze. "Glenda, you know Bob and Angie Jourdain, this is Dr. Franklin from the university."

"Pleased," Glenda said, offering her hand.

"My pleasure," Dr. Franklin said, accepting it. "May I ask what you think about this?"

"Oh, it should be interesting," Glenda Rice admitted. She waved a light-brown hand, "I know there's an element of risk, and I'd like to go in the first group, but someone has to stay and keep an eye on the kids, sell the house and that type of thing. That's what concerns me the most, the educational situation at the site."

"It's a good point," Dr. Franklin admitted. "That's one reason we didn't want kids under fifteen or so in the first wave. We want to get our feet under us, get our reserves built up, then we can decide about elementary schools." He took a sip of punch, "This is an international effort, our neighbor to the northeast at site 16 is a Mexican college; the one inland, to our west at site 18 is Polish. My own inclination is to have elementary schools to teach the three 'R's'; then do student exchanges."

"Having a common language, Trade, will help," Angela admitted. "Any worries about implants?"

"I'm somewhat curious as to how they work," Glenda admitted. "However, I'm certain other people have looked into that. What about…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 5, 2002: 08:07 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Texas A&M, Kleburg lecture hall #22:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Howdy, everyone," Dr. Franklin said, as notebooks and legal pads were prepared. The traditional greeting was returned, and he continued, "Thank you all for coming. I'd like to give you a rough outline of the situation as we know it. I do apologize for the short notice, as you may be aware, we only received notice of our selection this past Friday."

He moved behind the lectern, dimming most of the lights and starting the projector. "The planet Windfall lies in a binary system, Benecee Secundus, in the Orion Nebula. As a straight line, that's twelve hundred light years, but we're going as part of a routine convoy, that routing is more like fifteen hundred light years, at a convoy speed of five light years an hour." He called up a map, "The green line is our course, the three hundred hours is twelve and a half Terran days, or fifteen Galactic Standard days." He added as a comment, "We're going to have to get used to a different set of weights and measures, and currency." Changing the slide, "The alpha star in the system has two asteroid belts, it's a G5 star, which compares to our own Sun, which is a G2. To translate, this means it's the same spectral class, but a bit dimmer. Windfall, the planet, orbits a bit closer than we do, but a slower rotation, lower gravity, and a slightly thicker atmosphere." He changed to the next slide, that of the planet itself. "What does that mean to you? You'll weigh less, days are longer, thirty hours, years are shorter at nine months; lastly, crops should grow the same, but it will be more difficult for you to get a tan."

Changing slides once more, this time to the main continent, he continued, "In the western part of the continent, there is a small road network, with power and data transmission lines buried underneath the roads. Those are the yellow circles, power substations, which were abandoned and are overgrown. There is also a series of microwave towers, those are the tan circles, you'll notice the microwave towers are also all west of the main river."

He took a sip of water, "The green circles are the agricultural stations, they're building from north to south, and they're averaging four hundred kilometers apart, which is roughly two hundred fifty miles. The red circles are automated weather stations, all this is tied together with communication satellites." He changed slides again. "We're site 17, these are our neighboring sites out to a five hundred kilometer radius. The entire continent is a little bit bigger than Australia, about forty-five hundred kilometers wide. There are five time zones, roughly a thousand klicks or six hundred miles wide. We're in the 'plus three' eastern time zone, as we're on the east coast, as you can see there's a strip of barrier islands. Site 16, which is northeast, is a Mexican school. Their site runs along those barrier islands, while Site 18 is a Polish school. They've got a good sized lake to our northwest in the foothills of the mountain range."

Changing slides again, he commented, "I think whoever made the decisions wanted us to stretch a bit. Our main focus has been larger farm animals, like cattle, not rivers. Yet we're on a river's mouth, on an island in the delta that feeds the east coast river. In any case, this is our site, taken from about ten thousand feet." He let them study the photo in silence. Rivers entered the picture, running into and out of a small lake from the ten, one, and eight o'clock positions. The ten o'clock river was the largest, but it still wasn't that big. Between the two and three o'clock positions was a dam, with the blacktop of a road running across the top, roughly north-south, connecting to a gravel road. To the north of the dam was a vast forest that straddled the one o'clock river. On the beach to the north a tall aluminum flagpole reflected the light.

The primary island looked something like a fat triangle, or guitar pick, with the point facing west into the lake, the water to the east of the dam in the photo was froth-white, with the tan of wooden docks and piers ringing the base of the triangle. A set of cranes could be seen for the docks.

To the south of the 'point', sets of light grey concrete locks were installed between the main island and a secondary island. A black steel bridge with wooden decking was caught in mid-swing over the western-most lock; another gravel road circled the secondary island. Secondary dams between the smaller islands kept the water levels in the lake high, more steel bridges and gravel roads worked between them and the southern mainland, which was flatter, and not as heavily forested, being primarily grassland.

After letting them study this for a few minutes, Professor Franklin changed slides to a map. "These are dimensions, please remember that they are using the metric system. The southern fields, for instance, are several square miles, which should allow us crop rotation and several fallow fields."

"What's the weather like?" came the first question.

"Right now, we don't have historical weather data," he replied. "Only a few weeks at the most. We're assuming weather will be like other eastern coastal cities like Boston, Charleston and Mobile. The latitude of the site is about like Boston, and it does have barrier islands, but the planet is also smaller and orbits closer to the star, which is weaker than our Sun. That's why we said in the email to assume a harsh winter. We might get no snowfall, a light dusting, or several feet. We just don't know, but it's better to have the equipment and not need it. Right now, it's mid-summer there, but remember, it's a shorter year and longer days." He smiled slightly, "We may need to institute the afternoon siesta," and people chuckled.

"What about hazards, wildlife, that kind of thing?"

"Remember once again that this is a virgin planet," the Professor replied. "We just don't have some information, or what we have is incomplete." He took a sip of water, "The first Terrans on planet were an intelligence team. They were able to eat the local food and drink the local water, as well as the local teas and beers without much problem. One person developed a food allergy, another a slight mineral deficiency. This lets me be hopeful we won't run into major problems with our crops, but that's more of a 'cross your fingers' hope. We plan to use a greenhouse for seedlings, although I'm not looking forward to hand-planting them. Were we fortunate enough to have a mechanic of some sort?"

Bob stood up, "Bob Jourdain, I'm your mechanic, machinist, blacksmith, and gunsmith. US Army trained. I expect to be kept busy, along with my friend here, Chuck Rice (he waved), who's your carpenter and woodworker. However, the email said something about slaves?"

"I'll get to that in a minute, Mr. Jourdain." Bob nodded and sat down, and the Professor continued. "Regarding health, we are fortunate to have a doctor, dentist, and vet from Cuba who will be going with us. Unfortunately, Dr. McCarl from the university will not be able to join us at this time. I would like to know who has recent first aid experience, we expect the majority of injuries to be along the lines of cuts, burns, and broken bones. There is a planetary hospital at Riverside, and the Australians are contributing an aircraft with their flying doctor services. We should be good for routine medical care, and the medical staff will also be looking after public health, the water supply and so forth."

He took a step away from the lectern, "Regarding wildlife, what we know of are small mammals, such as foxes, there is a deer-analogue, and three predator species. Remember, this is data from the original colonist's records, which were to the west." He took a sip of water, "The first is a bear, two-twenty to two-fifty kilos, a dappled-brown to tan fur. It is apparently scarce, only been observed three times. It seems to be an omnivore, with four legs, like a Terran Brown Bear. It may be an imported beastie."

"The second one we know of is a felinoid, six limbs, also woodland camouflage coats. This one seems to definitely be a carnivore, about one-twenty kilos, going by the teeth and claws. The only one we've seen dead was apparently caught on the ground by the third, and what is considered the most dangerous predator." He shook his head, "It's known as a 'Wabbit'."

"A 'wabbit'?" someone asked, and people laughed.

"That's what I said, then I saw this little video clip. Hang on, let me load it…" He minimized the one window, and went to a directory, selecting a file; clicking on it.

The overhead screen changed to a laboratory, a black circle obscured one person's face. The man wore a standard white lab coat; another in the background was female, with longer, straight black hair. The man made some motions, commenting in a Boston accent, "The animal is dead, changing out the air," and they heard pump noises. After a minute or two, the man opened a pressure hatch, reaching in. He suddenly stiffened, made gargling noises, which drew the attention of the woman, who turned and screamed as he collapsed.

The video clip ended there, Professor Franklin said, "The doctor was part of the WHO team that went to Windfall, he was examining a dead, I repeat, dead wabbit." He manipulated the player's controls, moving back and freezing one shot. On it, short black quills stuck out of the doctor's gloved hands, visible as he collapsed. Professor Franklin said, "The wabbit was killed by substituting an argon atmosphere for two hours, it had no pulse or respiration. However, this is how we found out that it has a post-mortem reflex." He dug into a box, holding up a stuffed animal. "This is what a wabbit looks like. They're about six inches high at the shoulder, weighing about ten to fifteen pounds, about the same size as a Pekingese." He manipulated the flat black tail, "The wabbit throws quills, which have an extremely fast-acting poison. Mortality is under five seconds, and no, we don't have an antivenin yet. They're working on it. Wabbits are an ambush and pack hunter, and because it's small, it likes to shoot at the legs and bellies. The habitat is forest and grasslands, it burrows and hibernates during the winter." He manipulated the stuffed animal, "What did the doctor do? He grabbed the animal, after all, it was dead, and the tail slapped his hands."

He let them think on this for a minute or two, then said, "We have several things we can do. First is passive, wearing protective clothing. The quills are barbed, we have a range for the animal's fire." He held up the stuffed toy again and twisted the tail, "Roughly a two hundred thirty degree arc, and a maximum elevation of one to one-point-five meters, about three meters in distance. That translates to about ten to twelve feet in distance, and about five feet high. Remember, it's an ambush hunter; it's going to hide in the underbrush or a field. If the quills don't catch in anything, they slide off, and the poison denatures in sunlight. Therefore, a cool cotton undergarment, then something like Tyvek over top, or a stamped scale armor that is sewn to a denim layer. Second passive protection is this: Wabbits can't climb stairs, so we have a raised porch or walkway, and we install the half-and-half barn doors to keep them out. We leave the bottom half shut, and simply look outside before we open it."

"What happens when one gets in?" someone asked.

"We shoot it," the professor replied. "That's why we asked about guns." He looked up, "Mr. Jourdain, how difficult is it to reload ammunition?"

"Not very," he replied. "It's easier to standardize on certain calibers and loads, and it reduces cost if things like the brass can be recycled. Most of what I'd have to import are small things like primers and powder, and it's a multi-step process. You usually do it in batches, and I purely hate rimfire ammo, but reloading is something that can be done in slack times with fairly minimal training. What about getting hold of metals?"

"Metals are either from mines, automated mines at the original Landing site, or from asteroid mines, refined in orbit. They'll be available. Any comments about shooting the wabbits?"

"You'd use what's called rat shot. Basically a small shotgun shell in pistol ammo, good out to fifteen or twenty feet, but you'd need pretty good reflexes." He sat back a minute, "I'd recycle as much as I could; pay a rebate on used brass."

"What about aluminum cases?"

"Aluminum deforms when you try to re-crimp it, brass is fairly cheap. It's something I can look into, though. We'd need a shoot-house, a shooting range with pop-up targets to run people through." His wife leaned over and whispered something, and he nodded. "Good idea, thanks, hun. Put people in white jumpsuits, have the targets shoot red dye. If you're red, you're dead."

"I take it you're going?" the professor asked.

"Keep us away," Angie Jourdain said.

"Thank you," Professor Franklin said. "Two more critters, then we can take a break." He moved to a different slide, "This beastie is known as a hexataur. You'll notice the horse's head; otherwise it looks like a centaur. They can be broken and trained like a horse; you'll notice its yoke has a provision to bind the wrists. It helps to reduce their aggression, as does gelding the males. A feral hexataur has already killed one person. They run about fifteen hands at the shoulder. If it helps, think of a light horse with hands that can use primitive tools, like a spear."

"Are they intelligent, and who's the girl standing next to it?"

"About as intelligent as an otter using a rock to crack open shellfish." He changed slides, "This is known as a shonnen. It is a very large ox, and yes, that's the same girl. She's about five feet high, the shonnen is almost twenty feet long, weighing about six tons." He let them look, "Yep, ten to twelve thousand pounds, they take a while to start and to stop. Herd animals, they're big, slow, and dumb."

There were whistles; the girl was reaching up with her right hand to the heavy wooden yoke on the shonnen. It was a bull, its male equipment dangling between the middle set of legs. Someone asked, "Who's the girl, she looks kind of familiar."

"She should," Professor Franklin said with a chuckle. "That's Miss Wayne, our landlady. She's been in the news recently, although you don't usually see a picture of her wearing shorts. You should recognize her by the white patches in her hair, over the ears." He checked his watch, "If there are no other questions, why don't we take fifteen minutes?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good," Professor Franklin said when the meeting resumed. "I was afraid I'd be the only one going after this morning's information."

"I think we lost a few people," Chuck Rice said. "Primarily because of the wabbit thing. There has to be a better defense against the things."

Professor Franklin nodded. "There's a bounty system on them, that's a part of the economic situation. There's also a live trap for the things, only its clear plastic instead of wire. If we shoot it, since the tail is the dangerous part, after you shoot it; you use a cutter on a pole to lop off the tail. I have a design on my disk. The tail goes in Hazardous Waste; we sell the body to the Governor's office. We'll have a representative, as well as a bank. President Lawrence is going to try to get a Texas Ranger or two for law enforcement." He looked at the clock; then walked over to close the door, a couple scooted through, the woman carrying a pack of cigarettes.

"All right," the professor continued. "We're all back? Good. Here's where we get into the nitty-gritty of this. This is not only an agricultural research site; it's a miniature colony, part of the larger economy. Before the break, Mr. Jourdain asked about slaves. Here's the situation with them, first, does anyone have younger sisters, daughters, cousins about fifteen to seventeen or so?" Several hands went up, and he nodded, sitting on a corner of a table. "All right. There are planets, places in the wider galaxy that breed slaves like you might breed dogs or horses. We've all seen the photos of girls in the metal collars, right?" He looked around. "There are literally billions of slaves, one particular place has the girls in hotels. A hotel slave, she's there in your room to take care of all your needs. ALL of them."

He was silent, regarding them. "Now, think of your sister or cousin in that situation. Pretty bad, eh? It gets worse, for them. When a girl reaches about seventeen standards, that's about fourteen Terran years old, an accountant somewhere decides she needs to be replaced, she's been amortized, and they bring in a replacement girl."

"That makes me ashamed to be an accountant," Mr. Ito said. "I'm almost afraid to ask what they do with the old girl."

"They sell her," Professor Franklin said. "She's a slave, she's not a 'person' (he finger-quoted), she has no rights, legally she's an animal. If she's really, really lucky, a private owner buys her. If she's not-so-lucky, she's bought by the equivalent of the local zoo, as feed." He sat there and regarded them in silence.

"Feed, as in…"

"Feed, as in animal feed. They're amortized; slaves are a lot cheaper to feed meat-eaters than cows or goats. What's more, those girls are bred slaves, they KNOW they're destined to be dinner, their only hope of escaping that is a private owner, which makes them desperate to please. Now, those of you with sisters or daughters, put her into that situation."

"That's… that's…" someone started.

"Yes," Professor Franklin said. "We have a ship, crewed by Terrans, who every so often will go and buy a few hundred of those girls. They're covered as a slave ship; they bring them to Windfall, where they are rehabilitated. Quite honestly, I don't know how that crew does it without going drunk or committing mass murder. I know I would be sorely tempted to, especially knowing you can't save all the girls, just a handful." He took a deep breath, "That's where the girls come from. What we're doing is training them in a useful skill, while also helping them to think outside their collars, to regard themselves as people instead of animals. Therefore, each person going will have a few girls to mentor as apprentices. The system Governor is acting _in loco parentis_ for them to contract with you. She'll be providing some financial support, but the primary benefit to the girl is to learn and to break the conditioning."

"Okay, what kind of conditioning are we talking about?" Chuck Rice asked.

"Kneeling, assuming blame for everything that goes wrong, and the constant use of 'master' and 'mistress'. Servile behavior, which is how they were raised, we're fighting seventeen years of conditioning. Saying 'yes, master' and kneeling was how they survived, but it seems to be individually variable. Some girls are having an easier time breaking that conditioning than others, but be prepared to explain your reasoning in having them do a task, or why you want something done."

Professor Franklin took a step and started to pace. "Let's say, Mr. Rice, was it?" Chuck nodded, and the professor continued. "Let's say you've got one of them shaping a chair leg on a lathe. You'll do one, and set it as a model for her to study. You'll need to go through each step with her; you can't assume anything. That means safety goggles, ear protection, hard hat, gloves, and how to set up the machine."

"When she screws it up, she's going to blame herself," Chuck said. "I understand. She may just not get it, but if she goes across the street to Bob's metal shop, she may be a blue medal winner."

"Or down the street to the glassblower's, or the cabinet makers," Bob said. "The thing is not to make a big deal about it, everyone screws up. Hell, she may prove to work out best working for my father-in-law at his accounting shop."

"Don't forget," Glenda Rice said, "There's the back of house, where the lathes and the drill presses and such are, and there's the front of house. Our hypothetical girl might find her light working there, keeping shelves stocked, orders taken and delivered, accounts balanced, and that kind of thing. There's also the purely domestic, keeping the house clean and neat, bread baked and food on the table. Before we start shuffling her contract around, let's explore all the possibilities. It might serve to have the girls do a trial run first."

"Could you put up the overhead shot again, please?" Angie asked. "Thanks. I look at that, and I see lots of different things someone could do. Now, I'm working on the assumption that we'll be living over the store. In that photo, you've got not only the agricultural chores, like plowing and planting, but also logging, building those shops, creating shops like a glass works and weavers, but also farriers for horses and the centaurs…"

"Hexataurs…" someone corrected. Angie nodded, "People to work the docks, to work the dam and the power supply, I see what looks like a control tower for airplanes and those boat locks. There are a lot of things that can be done, and even if every single one of us in this room goes, we're still not going to be enough. We need those girls, and I'm willing to be patient to help them out. God knows they could use a break."

"All right," Professor Franklin said. "These girls tie in to the economy. Now, we're essentially a business, we have both an internal economy, buying and selling among ourselves; an inter-site trade and one that's planetary. The system Governor is how we buy things from Earth, so if we can't make it, we need to import it, which is the primary reason why we're going with oxen and shonnen and horse-drawn farm wagons. There are engines made on planet, but between Mr. Rice and Mr. Jourdain, we should have a positive balance of payments."

"If we have to import something, it needs to be small and light, so we import sperm instead of a stallion," someone said.

"Exactly. That's why there's a radio instead of cell phones," the professor said. "We should be able to make a decent radio, or trade for it locally, but not the microcircuits in a cell phone, or the tower or equipment it needs. There were vacuum tube radios and TVs into the 1960's, they did the job." He resumed his seat, "The electric is standardized for 240 volts, sixty Hertz. Do we have an electrician here?" Someone raised their hand. "Excellent! Any equipment we'll take will need to be adapted."

"Not necessarily," he replied. "You can simply wire a hot and a ground to each circuit, that gives you your 120 volts, just like the dryer in the basement takes 240, but the washer next to it takes 120. You'll need to standardize…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 5, 2002: 12:47 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Canary Wharf, Imperial Intelligence:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"G'day," Eleanor said. "I'm Eleanor Branstone, I've an appointment?"

"Yes," the receptionist said, pulling together some forms and snapping them on a clipboard. "Please have a seat and fill these out, I'll need to copy your ID and insurance cards, luv," and she smiled.

"Yes…" Eleanor replied, digging it out of her bag and handing it over. She took a seat as the receptionist moved over to the copier, then with the click of heels, returned them to her. She flipped open her binder and started to copy information from her CV as the receptionist returned to her station.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You do understand we will be doing a background check through DMLE, MI-5 and Interpol?" one of her interviewers said as another flipped through her OWL and NEWTs.

Eleanor nodded, "Mr. Nigma said you would be, I've no problems with that, it's perfectly understandable. What would my duties be?"

"There is a greenhouse with wizarding plants, you would also be raising seedlings for irontip and bloodroot, we're licensing them," the one replied, setting down her Hogwarts transcript. "You would also be brewing medicinal potions, among other duties. Your muggle cover would be research coordinator for the different agronomy sites; you would be the System Governor's resident witch. How are you with a computer?"

"Decent, I've one at home, and the last few years Hogwarts had them installed, but in terms of things like databases…" she shrugged. "I've used them, but in terms of creating them, I've not a clue."

"Don't worry about that, we've an IT bloke that would be on the same outgoing ship with you," the third interviewer said. She leaned forward, "You mentioned Mr. Nigma, where do you know him from?"

"His adoptive daughter will be starting Hogwarts this term, as my younger sister will be," Eleanor replied. "I met him when we were getting their school supplies in Diagon Alley, we chatted, helping each other out. He said Windfall was a tropical world?"

"Yes," the first said. "It's supposed to be a beautiful world, I haven't been there myself." He tented his fingers, "Miss Wayne has overthrown the Elders; they were not the sharpest knives in the drawer." He turned to look at the other interviewers, who nodded. "Had you other questions, Ms. Branstone?"

"I was advised to have any salary in Terran currency through Lantern Bank."

"Not a difficulty," the wizard interviewer said. "Gringotts has signed agreements to affiliate themselves with Lantern Bank, we can have your salary deposited directly to your vault. Galleons, tungsten, euros, whatever you wish; currently the exchange rate for ten pounds sterling gets you over one hundred seventy grams of tungsten. There will be a branch of Gringotts on Windfall, and secondary branches in the different sites. However, Lantern Bank deals in grams of tungsten, so we would need to pay you on Windfall in pounds and convert it back and forth between Windfall, Geneva, and London. The conversion rates will sometimes be in your favor, sometimes not," he warned. "If you are looking to pay off loans and such, we can do that and then simply take a charge against your pay until it clears. Personally, I would suggest Euros directly into Geneva." He turned back to look at her, "Pending your security clearance, of course, can you be ready to be on ship and break orbit on September first?" She nodded, and he wrote a number on a small pad, pushing it across the table to her. "Is this suitable?"

She considered it, then wrote a different number, slightly higher, and pushed it back. The third interviewer, 'Ms. Smith' regarded it; then glanced to the others. They nodded, and the first stood, offering his hand. "Welcome to Imperial Intelligence, Ms. Branstone."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 5, 2002: 16:41 (GMT)  
Terran system, **_Olentangy_**, flight deck:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Navigation?" Bill asked.

"Course plotted and triple-checked, sir. Ready to hit the gas."

"Supplies?"

"No change from this morning, sir," Misty replied. "Cargo at 98.6 percent of max. Rock and roll."

"Engineering?"

"Kick the tires and light the fires, dad. I mean, sir."

"Let's do it, Mike," Bill said. "Take us home."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 5, 2002: 22:38 (GMT-5)  
Terra, Cambridge, MA, MIT housing:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

_To: Momma c/o Rev. Lovemount  
From Chantal Rivers  
Date: August 5, 2002  
Subject: News!  
_

_Hello, Momma! _

_Once again, I'd like to thank Rev. Lovemount for being so kind to print these out for you and driving up to see you. Since my last letter, I'd like to pass on some good news! I've been accepted as an engineer, working in London (yes, that's in England, Momma) with a good-sized international company. You may have heard of them, they're known as Arrowhead. I'll have to sit the British licensing boards, but since I've already passed the ones for the State of Massachusetts, I don't really see a problem with that. I'll have to buy some more dress-up type skirted suits for work, but that shouldn't be a problem. _

_I don't know if you've been keeping up with the news outside Goose Breast, but Arrowhead is the company that's been doing all the 'outer-space' stuff. (They put the red light on the moon I pointed out on my last visit.) That means it's very likely that I'll be going out into space, and to the moon. I'll be sure to take lots of pictures when I do and e-mail them to Rev. Lovemount so he can print them out for you. (Reverend – please let me know how much that costs, and I'll send you the money!) If you've heard, the Solar Guard recently brought in a light cruiser, a real space-warship! They're taking it apart on the moon and studying it, so we can build and improve on it. I'm really looking forward to this!_

_As far as finding an apartment (what the British call a 'flat'), I've been writing back and forth with one of the company programmers, who has a room to let. She graduated from Cambridge University in England, and she's only a few years older than I am. From her last email, the London subway system, known as the 'Tube' has a station only a few blocks from the apartment building, so a car isn't necessary, although a 'flatmate' left her a motorcycle. I'll talk to her about buying it from her when I get there. London's an expensive town, from what I hear, a pint of beer in a pub is £2.00, or about $3.00. Not that I'm likely to go get drunk, but from what I've heard, most workplaces and people have a 'local' pub, where they go to share a beer after work to unwind. (Reverend – I've learned the lesson of Melissa's husband John, and I drink responsibly, and limit myself to one beer or glass of wine. I'm glad to hear that the court ruled her shooting him was self-defense; I have no desire to become a drunk like him!) _

_We've had a pair of British sisters over here for summer school, Anne and Karen. Anne has an interesting history, she's Arrowhead's chief scientist, but wanted to come over here and take classes at the world's finest engineering school (MIT, of course!). Her sister Karen came along, to use her own words, keep her from playing in traffic while allowing the skinned knee. Anne is somewhat absentminded, entering a world of mathematics and physics and forgetting to eat – somewhat like Albert Einstein is supposed to have been like. Karen is Arrowhead's HR (Human Resources) person, she does the hiring and whatnot, and so it made things much easier to have her about. _

_I've discussed with Karen my desire to pay a tithe into the Goose Breast community education savings fund. Please find out from the bank the routing number (should be nine digits) and the account number (four to fifteen digits); send that information to my Yahoo email address – NOT my school address, that will close after I graduate in a few weeks. (If you can't find that, let me know as soon as possible!) Also, since I'll be paid in British Pounds, there will be a conversion rate into US Dollars, so the amounts will vary. If the bank gets stuffy about that, let me know, they can fax the information to the HR department, I've got Karen's business card with that information. _

_Momma, I'd love to see you for my graduation! Let me know when to meet the bus into Boston, I've got permission for you to stay with me, and Mrs. __Stewart will drive us. Don't worry about a thing!_

_(Reverend – Don't let her pay for anything!!! Make sure she has some pocket money (fifty dollars should do) and if the General Store doesn't have cell phones yet, let me know ASAP; I'll send one through the Post Office. Mrs. Stewart and I will meet her bus in Boston, but you might want to have Mr. Tillman meet her when she gets back, I'm going to send back some of my stuff, and might need his truck to get it up to the house. Please let me know what his expenses are, I'll send him a check. Momma is not to fret about money – I know she does! Also, if you can steal one of her bank deposit slips, I'll set up to send her money – she refused to even discuss it with me.) _

_My grades remain high, but I did get only a '4.5' on an essay, which ruined my perfect record of '5.0' marks. I'm so disappointed in myself ;-). (That's a 'smiley-face', it means I'm grinning when I write this!) Still, I'm well on track to graduate 'cum laude' (That's Latin for 'with honor', Momma. That's a good thing!) _

_Well, that's about all the news from college for now. I love you, Momma, and I'm really looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks. I'm eating well, there's a grocery a few blocks walk away, I'm keeping healthy and exercising (although not like walking out to the mail-box on the road!). Overall, I'm doing pretty good, Momma, and hope you are the same. _

The blonde chewed her lower lip, rereading her letter home. She had grown up in the tiny town in the mountains of West Virginia, and now had managed to escape it. She remembered the poverty much of the town lived in, including her mother and younger brothers and sisters. She sighed; she would do what she could, and quickly typed the close:

_Your loving daughter,  
Chantal_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, August 6, 2002: 08:12 (GMT -6)  
Terra, Texas A&M, Kleburg lecture hall #22:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning, and Howdy, everyone!" Professor Franklin said. "For those that are definitely going, I'm going to pass around a sign-up sheet. I'd like to get your names, phone numbers, email addresses and what specialties you can offer. What I'd like to do is to get people's ideas for products and commodities we can sell, initially to other sites. I've gotten some emails from our neighboring sites; they've been going through the same meetings over the past few days. Before we dive into that, any questions on what we've covered so far?"

Chuck put up his hand, "It seems like we're regressing in tech more than we need to. I was looking over the info packet last night, there's that Chinese company on Taiwan that's doing laser conversions. What can you tell us about them?"

"Excellent question, and I do apologize. That had slipped my mind. What they're doing is taking cutting tools like drill presses and lathes and designing a set of lasers to replace the steel bits. Unfortunately, that doesn't work for things like chisels and rasps, but they do have things like laser chainsaws. They operate off batteries, and galtech batteries are _very_ advanced. They've worked up a field charger device using a tethered wind generator, that same portable generator we can mount on a good-sized cart, so we can also use things like portable sawmills that we can connect, that type of equipment. We'll have six of them, plus whatever Terran generators we bring along."

"Fuel sources?"

"I know they're all biofuels, like butanol, ethyl alcohol, and biodiesel," the professor replied. "I'm not sure about the aviation fuel, though."

One woman raised her hand, "Regarding wabbits, what about a repellant?"

"We, thank god, do not have any live specimens to experiment with," the Professor replied. "All we have is Roger here (he waved the stuffed toy), although I would expect they're working on a repellant." He saw the woman nod and accept the clipboard, as another hand was raised. "What about inter-site transport?"

"There is a ferry, the locals seem to prefer sternwheeler paddleboats, and for our purposes, that seems adequate. Arrowhead has an airport at the capital, Riverside, and in my packet there was mention of DHL signing a transport contract. I don't think there would be much passenger traffic, it would mostly be light cargo, and one particular small group of islands is circled on my map 'DHL transport'." He took a sip of coffee from an insulated mug, "I've shown a photo that was included to some of the marine engineering people. They called the design efficient, although they wondered why the locals used paddles instead of a screw propeller." He shrugged, "I expect we'll have schedules and rates, the information packet did list diesel fuel as available. What else?"

"Could you put up the overhead photo of our site, please?" The people looked at it, Professor Franklin cleared his throat. "Let me point out some features of the main island. Here, at the point, are the water processing and power distribution areas. We'll call that … ten o'clock. There are two other secondary areas, which also include sewer, at two o'clock and down here, at the southeast corner." He tapped the screen, "This is where the fuel tanks are located, and the fueling dock. I'd make those the 'industrial' and 'commercial' areas. (He finger-quoted.)

"The only problem with that is we'll probably be living over the shop," Chuck said.

"Another problem I see is the lack of room for any real industrial area," Bob added. "Let me give an example. The spaces that I see allocated for shops seem to be designed for retail. However, if I'm going to produce, oh, aluminum shelving brackets, I've got to have room for the flat stock, the machinery to form it, punch the holes, cut it to length, say a meter long, do any packaging, and have storage space for the finished product. Now, that's just _one_ product, it doesn't even include the clips or the screws, and that will probably take up a good thousand square feet. What's more, I'm going to have to have someone keeping an eye on the machine, and additional equipment for material handling. Otherwise, I'm going to be producing products in batches, which isn't cost-efficient."

"I know we're first-in colonists, and we're going to have to market to other sites," Chuck's bass rumbled. "How do we do that? Some sort of planetary Internet or shopping sites?"

"Excuse me," a curly haired brunette said. "I'm Karen Meyers, and I'd like to know who does that network, those shopping sites? What about phones and computers in homes and businesses? There's no reason a shop can't do computer-aided manufacturing, they can put a server or two in their back rooms and terminals where they need." She waved a few pages of her information packet, "According to this, there's fiber laid along with power, but I don't really have that much other information."

"I think we're not supposed to have anything we can't repair ourselves," someone said.

"You'd have to have more reliable equipment," Ms. Meyers replied. "Not some cheap piece of crap that breaks down every three months. How difficult will it be to order equipment from Earth?"

"You've got about two weeks of shipping each way, I think Arrowhead is doing a parts catalog. Weight will be a factor."

"So I'd better order two or three bits instead of one," Chuck said.

Ms. Meyers nodded, "The most common components I'd have to stockpile, but we could do terminals instead of PCs … yeah, that could work." She nodded again.

"A terminal?" Bob asked.

"Like an ATM," she replied. "For your shop, you use it to connect to your server that has your books, your financial software and controls your machinery. Your front desk has a little tiny PC that fits in an electric box, runs about a hundred dollars, you just connect a monitor, keyboard and mouse to that, maybe a printer. You could also use it to connect to the bank's web site, or the planetary net."

That drew some comments, someone asked, "How difficult is it to do?"

"We can install what's known as a 'MAN', a metropolitan area network," Karen replied. "The fiber and power has been laid, the hard work is done; we would just need to split off the fiber. The township can run communications; you'd pay a monthly charge for your access, like cable TV. For individuals, the township can provide home telephones. For a business, the town would install a router and then the business would have responsibility."

"You've done this before," someone asked.

"Yes, I've done it for the state of Ohio," she replied, and grinned. "Couldn't you tell from my accent I'm a damn Yankee?" People chuckled, and she continued, "I can set up phone and network access, but I don't have a lot of information I need to properly plan it. For instance, Arrowhead is using subspace, FTL to communicate with the moon and the Belt, but did they install that in the comm satellites orbiting Windfall? Subspace uses different equipment than microwaves or lasers; expensive equipment the town would buy. What about environmental? Are the equipment rooms heated and air-conditioned? You don't want mold and corrosion inside a million dollar switch because some mid-level bureaucrat decided to save a few dollars and only air condition certain rooms. If we're going to tie our phones and networks together, I really need more information than what I've got here."

"What about cell phones, connections to other sites?"

"Cell phones are essentially radios," she replied, waving hers. "You'd need a tower with the appropriate antennae, power and connection equipment to the backbone. You're spending several million dollars, and for a few hundred people, not really justifiable. For connections to other sites, I'd like to take a look at those abandoned microwave towers out west and see if there's anything different in them. They would probably be cheaper than running fiber across the continent, although they wouldn't have the bandwidth. When someone does get around to running fiber I'd do it between those microwave sites, or along the rivers." She took a sip from her own Styrofoam cup of coffee; "The colony sites are what, four or five hundred kilometers apart?"

Dr. Franklin nodded, "On average, yes."

"You want to put those microwave antennas high, because they're line-of-sight; an elevation of several hundred meters. On the other hand, buried or submerged cable would be easiest for us to install along lakes, canals, and rivers. Since we're looking at primarily water transport, that's how I would go, and until then accept any latency with the satellites."

"What about lasers?" someone asked.

"They're okay for local sites, you've got a maximum range of ten klicks, and they're subject to atmospherics, like rain and snow. No, for local communications, out to say thirty klicks or so, radios for aircraft and boats would be easiest and cheapest."

"Getting back to phones, what kind of costs are we looking at?"

"As I said, I don't have a lot of information I'll need to cost out the equipment. For the home, an inexpensive digital phone is in the neighborhood of forty dollars, which would include voicemail. For a business like the glassblower or woodworker, a multi-line phone is around a hundred fifty bucks for the front desk; you can get a PBX box to go on your server rack for about fifteen hundred." She shrugged, "Once again, I don't have a lot of information I need. If the township buys equipment in bulk, costs would go down of course. We can lease phones, put a deposit on them. I _really_ need to talk to the Arrowhead people who are setting this up, because otherwise I'll have to wait until I'm there and can examine the equipment before I specify equipment."

"That's understood, but now is just getting our initial crops in," Dr. Franklin said.

"I realize that, but this is your communications net. This is your weather, commerce, banking, buying and selling information. If you need something we don't have or can't make, this would be how we get it. Some things, yes, can be installed later, but the cable and basics will be in place." There was some discussion, and she added, "You may not need a hundred and fifty channels on TV, but if you need to call paramedics that phone on the wall better work." There was more discussion, and she shifted in her seat, "I had another question, though. It seems to me what you're calling a 'commercial' district would be better used for community and places like town hall. You mentioned getting in a Texas Ranger, we'd also need some sort of hospital, even if it's a small one, a community center, a town hall, and what about a cemetery?"

"Cemetery?"

"She has a good point," Chuck said. "This is a brand new colony, and like it or not, people will die. It's even mentioned in the email, about the will. Also, I'd use the community center for town meetings as well as religious services." He stood up, "I'm Baptist, and we've got Catholic, Methodist and others here. Jewish?" Several hands went up, including Ms. Meyers, "Muslim?" A bearded man raised his hand. Chuck nodded, "The planet has a five day week. I'd like to propose to everyone that the fifth day of the week is taken as a communal religious day for everyone. We can use different rooms in the community center for different faiths. We'll all be in the same building, we're all neighbors, the various religious leaders can get together for things like weddings, funerals, social events. One problem we have here on Earth is we don't understand the other fellow's religion, this will help to eliminate that."

"Can I get contact information for the Arrowhead people in London?" Ms. Meyers asked. "If you want us to build a secure planetary Internet from scratch, it _has_ to be coordinated. If you want to order and ship stuff, it _must_ be designed, it can't just … grow and be patched together like Earth's is."

"Does that mean we won't get spam?" someone asked, and people laughed. Ms. Meyers turned a frosty look on him, replying, "Yes." She said, "You get spam because fools and idiots reply to it, and people are either not willing or not allowed to fix their mail servers. If you get spam on this planet, it will be because someone was allowed to send it from a colony's location, and we can simply block all traffic from there. No traffic means no business for them. Simple enough."

"Ms. Meyers, we're going to set up some working groups later," Professor Franklin said. "Would you join the government and infrastructure one?" She nodded, and someone said, "I was thinking last night about the problem of the wabbits. They inhabit both grassland and forest, which is what we have north and south of the islands. Both sides have secondary rivers running north – south, and that looks like some prime farming land. I'd like to suggest we do a controlled burn on the south shore from the shore east to the bank of the secondary river." There were some comments, and Professor Franklin held up his hand. "Explain your reasoning, please. We will not have any way to fight a forest fire."

"I know," the man said. "Several reasons. A controlled burn will kill the weeds and their seeds, clear out the undergrowth for healthier forests, get rid of things like leaf residue, and most importantly, if we plan it right, it will not only kill the wabbits, but drive any survivors to drown in the river. I think you said they can't climb, and they can't swim. That should kill most of the critters; we can then harvest the trees while we clear the fields. We take a few teams of those shonnen, and just plow the residue under to get biochar."

"We've got several square miles of grassland, and more of forest," the professor replied after studying the overhead. "Maybe fifteen square miles. That's a lot of area."

"That allows us to have field rotation and pasture," someone else said. "If we do it in sections, it allows the wabbits a refuge and lets them return. We'd need some sort of barrier for them besides the river."

Someone else raised a hand. "I'd suggest we break up into working groups. Agriculture, commerce, infrastructure, government." There was a general murmur of agreement, and someone else said, "If we're each getting, what, a few hundred kilos of personal gear like clothing…"

Professor Franklin looked at his notes, "Five hundred fifty kilos, or about eleven hundred pounds."

"That's a lot of clothing and books," he said. "I don't think my wife and I have that much. I'd suggest we donate any extra to a pool, or use that toward our specialty equipment. If the basic machinery can be built on-planet, it will save mass which we can use for other things."

"And boost our economy," the professor agreed. He looked at his watch; then suggested, "Why don't we take fifteen minutes and then come back and meet in those groups."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Tuesday, August 6, 2002: 10:23 (relative)  
In Convoy, **_M/V (A) Manhattan_**, flight deck:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Mattie looked up from the Captain's chair, setting her datapadd aside and stretched. She got up, moving to a clear space on the deck, and twisted and bent herself to the crackling of her joints. The former pirate sitting at the helm turned to watch her in silence, collar lights glowing as she stretched herself and yawned.

"Don't do that," Mattie said.

"Don't do what, mistress?"

"Yawn. It's infectious, it will have our whole crew doing it." The former pirate looked dubious, and she wagged a hand, "So the myth says, but haven't you seen that happen?" She crossed to the replicator, "Tea?"

"Yes, I have, and with two sweet, mistress." The insulated cup was set next to her, and she sipped from it. "What will you do with us?"

Mattie sat back and regarded the other woman. "What are your plans, assuming you can do what you want?"

"I have a choice, mistress?"

"Everyone always has a choice. Would you go back to being a pirate, or an ordinary spacer, or maybe some dirtside job?" She took a sip from her own mug. "So far, you lot have kept your word, you yourself have gone above and beyond it."

"That, I do not know, mistress. I'll have to think on it. Piracy is very easy money."

"Possibly. You may not know this, but our species has been fighting since we evolved." The former pirate's head snapped around, and Mattie nodded. "A warrior race; pirates and slavers are not our favorite people. We have a large number of trained military people, you may wish to reconsider your choice of occupation, and take advantage of this opportunity." She took a sip from her mug, "We can use all the trained personnel we can get, if we can trust them."

The former pirate swallowed hard, "We … Yes, mistress," and she turned back to her board.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Tuesday, August 6, 2002: 14:12 (GMT) ****Seconday, 12 Sextus, 162, 19:59  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's complex, plans office:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I'm sorry, Haak'n, but I can't in good conscious leave the office in your care," Charlie said.

"But I am the most experienced designer!"

"This is true," Charlie said. "However, you don't have the people skills to manage them. You're a good designer, a skilled engineer, but you believe there is only one correct way to solve a problem: yours. You may appear to listen to others, but I can tell, you've already ruled that out. That's why you haven't lead any more design teams." He started to protest, and Charlie shook his head. "I point to the dispute you had with T'asi last week. She designed a simple, economical way to raise the dam height on P'wheel, as well as widen the roadbed. Your design, which would have cost more, failed the computer simulation, hers didn't."

"But she is only…" he started to say, then shut up suddenly.

"A female? A local?" Charlie asked, with an edge to his voice. He shook his head, "No, Haak'n. This meeting is over," and he stood. Reluctantly, the older man also stood, a quaver in his voice, "My freedom?"

"If you wish it, I will endorse it for the Governor," Charlie said flatly. "You may then make your way as you can. I will endorse your technical skills, but that is all," and he gestured to the door. Haak'n's shoulders slumped, and he turned to open the door. He returned to his drawing board as Charlie called, "M'son? You're next." A dark-skinned woman put down her tools, fluffed her hair over her collar, and entered the office as Charlie held the door for her.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Tuesday, August 6, 2002: 20:26 (GMT) ****Seconday, 12 Sextus, 162, 28:25  
Windfall, High Town, Finance Minister's residence, slave cells:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Daala watched as Miika checked the occupants of the various cells. There were fewer than before when he had been Minister, Daala noted as he sat with his back against the cold stone. "Lock your collar," Miika told him, and Daala obediently closed the ring around his throat as Miika turned the key in the cell door to check him. He turned as Daala heard First call, "Miika, please hurry! Our master wants us right away!" Turning away, Miika pulled the cell door, but Daala's eyes widened – he had forgotten to relock it! He waited impatiently as Miika left, then carefully twisted and eased the ring from around his throat. He smirked, the ring would click as if locked, but carefully stuffing a bit of bread in the lock would keep it from actually working.

Easing the cell door open, he looked around, and only saw slave tunics for females. He grimaced, taking one and turning it around to hide the yellow edging as he made his way to the door. There was, unfortunately, nothing he could do about his collar. Glancing inside the discipline room, he saw one of the slaves locked to the wheel, her arms chained above her head, and helpfully gagged. She recognized him, and whimpered, pulling at her chains. He looked around, she had been kind to him, as she could be, but she was only a female slave. Finding nothing he could use in the tools, he left, making certain to close the room's heavy wooden door.

Carefully making his way (he had no idea when that idiot Miika would return), pulling the door to the slave cells closed behind him, he stole past the laundry, down a corridor with only a single torch for light. He cursed the Source the humans had removed the slaves' bells – then again, he didn't want to wear them either. He stole down a passage, turning a corner and colliding with First, who was apparently being disciplined for something, she had a gag locked on. She whimpered and tried to escape, but was only a female, and trivial to handle. In a moment, she was cuffed and being led by the hair. Reaching the end, he reached up to press on a particular brick, much higher than any female could reach, and thus secure.

"Down with me, slave," he told her, carefully closing the portal behind him. It twisted down, down, until he arrived at the small dock where his boat was kept. "Is it night, slave?" and she whimpered once. "Good," and dragged her aboard, reworking her cuffs so she was bound to the mast. A bit of rope about her ankles, and she stood, back to the mast as he checked his supplies, their collar lights gleaming in the darkness.

Satisfied, he released a lock, lowering the mast so the boat could slip away through the tunnel. The fact that the slave was bent over backwards was of no mind, she was only a female. He started the motor, amazed that it still worked after all these years, and slipped the lines, heading for the glowing moss that marked the tunnel.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So far, so good," Arthur whispered to Miika from the stairs where they watched. The low-light goggles and infrared lighting mounted high on the walls turned the small cavern and the crude wooden dock as bright as day. "First seems all right…"

"She asked for the assignment," Miika replied as the small motor yacht started up the tunnel. "I've already released the other girl from the wheel."

"Good, good," Arthur said, as the yacht disappeared into the tunnel. He stood, clapping the brawny native on the shoulder, "Next step is for him to blow the brick wall, and then trim the hanging vines. Is that all set?"

"Yes, master," Miika said, and Arthur could see his grin through the goggles.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

While Daala got the mast raised, and her back on her feet again, First looked to her right. Against a fire's light, she could see the signal of three horizontal openings, which were then changed to three vertical ones, and back again. Reassured, she struggled and whimpered for appearances as Daala went back to work on the motor, he snapped at her, "Be silent, slave!" She whimpered once, obediently, and looked up at the stars. It was a beautiful starry night.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Daala cackled as they cleared the lagoon's reefs. "It's a good thing I planned ahead," he said, talking to himself. "I'm free and clear, it's a good thing we never fixed that thing on the station that lets slave collars be tracked." He cackled again, then climbed up and released her from the mast. "Go below, slave, and fix me something to eat. I'm hungry," and he pulled off his slave tunic, throwing it overboard; an old man standing next to the mast naked to the stars, wearing only a slave belt and collar.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Good signal on both collars and the boat's homing devices," Arthur was told. "He's two kilometers clear of the lagoon, coming onto a easterly heading. Looks like he's headed for our site six; speed is consistent with using his sails. Probably wants to conserve fuel."

"Doesn't he have a gizmo aboard to manufacture that?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, but the seals have unfortunately degraded over time," the voice replied in a sorrowful tone. "When he tries to use it, it's going to catch fire."

"Pity," was the reply. "Keep me posted, please."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Wednesday, August 7, 2002: 02:56 (GMT) ****Thirday, 13 Sextus, 162, 04:55  
Windfall, at sea:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Daala came out of the cabin after the aircraft had gone, she had waved to it frantically, but it had ignored her. He cackled again, "You're with me for the rest of your life, slave. I would think that would please you, to be able to serve me again." She whimpered once, in a discouraged tone, and he said, "I would stop trying to draw the human's notice. You're an escaped slave, they'll put you on display as a lesson."

She whimpered once; then pointed at his collar. "Oh, I'm a male; it doesn't count. You're a female, why do you think we set it up that way?" She angrily whimpered, pointing at his slave belt. "Well, there you have a point, they did geld me. My _maat_ days are long gone. Still, once a male, always a male." He sighed; then took his seat before the wheel, adding, "For your impudence, female, you can make me something for first meal."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Same Daala, master," one of the girls said as they listened to what was happening on the boat. She turned her head to watch the monitor from the satellite as Daala took his seat.

"How's the weather look?" Miika asked.

"Just this line of clouds, master, but they're far to the east. Days away, it looks like."

"Give me a call if you need me for anything," Arthur said. "Miika, you have completed your part of the bargain, and when the Ministry opens, we'll do this officially. For now, I am pleased to offer you your freedom." He offered his hand, "Congratulations."

As the girls squealed, he accepted it. "Thank you, milord." He accepted kisses and hugs from the girls, one of who asked, "What about First, master?"

"That is up to her," Arthur replied. "However, for her part in the plan, I consider her free as well; I'll communicate that to the team on the island."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"The females have it easy," Miika commented as he followed Arthur in his walk to the Ministry, trailed in turn by Heinrich. "They are female," he said. "They need only to look good, kneel and smile prettily and say 'Yes, master.' They have an easy collar."

"I have a feeling they would disagree," Arthur said. "A case of what we call 'The grass being greener,' which is the other's life looks easier than your own. Have you ever noticed grazing animals pushing their heads through a fence to eat the other side? It isn't theirs, so it must be better."

"I feel we will disagree, milord," Miika replied as they stopped at a teashop. Nervously, at Arthur's wave, he took a seat next to him. When the shop's slave appeared, Arthur told her, "Whatever he wants, I'm freeing him today."

"Oh, master, congratulations!" the girl said, kneeling and bowing low. "I am so happy for you! What may this girl bring to you?"

"Just a cup of tea, slave," Miika said.

"Yes, master!" She bounced up, ran a few steps, then stopped, and returned. "I am sorry, master," she told Arthur. "In my excitement, I neglected your order. What may I bring to you, master, your usual order?"

"That would be fine," he said with a smile, giving her a few coins, and she ran off. Arthur turned to Miika, "What are your plans?"

"I do not know, milord. Once I have a dark collar, I will search for employment." Arthur grunted, "We're going to the Trade Ministry. Minister Burnet and I are going to swap Ministries; he's a trained banker, once that's done and I've left, Ms. Castellano will take over Trade, as well as her duties as Deputy System Governor." The girl returned with their tea, and Arthur ceremonially poured Miika a cup, then Heinrich. After the cups were 'fixed', he continued, "How many people do you know at Trade? As many as at Finance?"

"A number, milord, but I did not work there…"

"Understood," Arthur said, cupping his tea in his hands. He meditatively blew across the hot liquid. "Your decision. Personally, I would think it would be more difficult to return to the same Ministry." The Council's slaver machine was a much older model, and could not remove a collar; just deactivate them.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Wednesday, August 7, 2002: 05:36 (GMT) ****Thirday, 13 Sextus, 162, 06:45  
Windfall, High Town, Trade Ministry conference room:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning, Mr. Morton!"

"And to you, Ms. Castellano," Arthur replied with a smile. "Welcome to High Town. I hope you enjoyed the pasta."

"I most certainly did, and we're looking into an almost-authentic Italian pasta and pizza joint here in High Town. Hopefully we can franchise it to East and West Ports." She took a sip of tea; then said, "I'm hoping one of the incoming agricultural stations figures out coffee. Replicated just isn't the same."

"Here, here," Christine said from the screen. "I've forwarded to you a list of questions from London, along with a list of which schools are at which sites."

"I received that, and I second the coffee," Hans said, taking a sip of his own tea. "Frau Governor, we shall do the best we can to answer their questions." He turned to Arthur, "Herr Morton, how did it go with Herr Daala?"

"Very well, my household girls are tracking them. They find it all very exciting," Arthur said. "As part of my agreement with him, I'm going to be freeing my majordomo, Miika, today. I was thinking it might be awkward for him to return to the same workplace wearing a dark collar." He took a sip of his own tea, "Ms. Castellano, I was thinking he might like to come in with you to the Trade Ministry."

"I'll certainly sit down and talk to him," Benni said. She called up the list of questions, "Let's see about these questions … Hmm. Okay, the first one, fire and emergency response. Apparently they didn't get the specs on the fire hydrants we installed…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 10, 2002: 10:08 (GMT) Firsday 16 Sextus, 162 10:10  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's Office: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Ma'am, you have a comm call from orbit," Christine's secretary said over the intercom, and Christine looked at the mutual wall and the open door. She raised her voice, "You couldn't simply _say_ it, could you? Put the call through, please, and close the door."

"Yes, ma'am," the secretary replied, a face appeared on the screen, and a second later the door closed. "This is Governor Sullivan."

"This is Queen Mattie," the dark haired girl said on the screen; then a grin split her face. "My, aren't we all official and pretentious today."

"Says the Royal Lantern," Christine replied. "Are you going to set that bloody ring in your crown jewels?"

"I've actually tried to give it back, but Ganthet won't accept it," she said. "We need to get together, get everyone caught up, and I've got a bunch of slaves to free, and some pirates to turn over to you."

"Pirates? How many, what kind of security?"

"Right now they're on parole with us, because the crew of the _Nevis_ just couldn't stretch to cover four ships. We've got the Wookie mamas on a destroyer and Sprink and I split the pirates and their slave crew to cover the _Manhattan_, which I'm on, and the _Dover_, which she's on. They're passenger ships, each can take about a thousand passengers and two hundred or so crew."

"What did you say? 'Wookie mamas'?" Christine shook her head, "Anyway, why buy passenger ships?"

"For the colonists – we can't load 'em aboard like slaves."

"D'oh," Christine said, slapping her forehead. "By the way, got a message from the _Scythe_, got some more slave girls rescued. They'll send along a final total, asked if we needed anything else while they were there." She grinned, "I asked for a couple more med-tanks for the hospital, can't have too many." She raised an eyebrow, "Now, if there's no more business for the moment, there's a young fellow in High Town who really misses you."

"Well, it's not my brothers, they're both back on Earth," and she grinned. "Can you connect me?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

T'asi knocked on Charlie's doorframe, "Pardon me, master, but you have a visitor," and with a small smile, held the door as he looked up. "Sprink!" and he rushed to her as T'asi discretely closed the door.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Later that evening, Charlie said, "Arthur and I were getting worried about you two. You cut it kinda fine."

"There was some trouble unloading the troop ship we captured," she said as she snuggled. "Oi, you don't want to be across the table when Mattie's negotiating. We wound up taking more shipyard credit than we wanted, and usin' a good bit o' that in installing the new reactors an' such-like. Still, we got a pretty nice bit o' gold, err, tungsten in the accounts."

"You get your plants for Snape?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I've got this one that's kinda like a potato, but it does like, four or five roots instead of one. Mattie's got a couple others, and there's a local fish that has a gland that does a truth potion, so we should be good."

"That's good," he said, pulling her close. "Now, enough business…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 10, 2002: 15:10 (GMT) Firsday 16 Sextus, 162 15:08  
Windfall, High Town, Finance Minister's home: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Arthur stood at the door, watching as a green streak came over the horizon, touching down in the road. Mattie appeared, a pack on her shoulder. She grinned, "Honey, I'm home!" she said as she gave him a hug.

"What did you bring me?" he replied, holding out his hand and taking her bag.

"They're too big to fit in there," she said, wrapping her arm around his waist as he shouldered the bag and held the door for her.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Mom's been bitching that I don't write home enough so I can't really complain about you not sending me any messages," Arthur said as Mattie parked herself on his lap. "But if you hadn't shown up by Fifth day, I was going to have to look at heading to Earth without you and Sprink. We've only got three weeks 'til school starts."

"Yeah, but for all the nifty things this Ring can do, it ain't a Sisal unit," she replied, leaning closer and pulling his arm into a hug. "Enough business for now…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I suppose we should go down to dinner," Arthur said later. "Find out what's happening with First and all that."

"Mmm," his almost-wife said as she snuggled closer. "I'd like to get caught up a bit, first. No business, just family. I know Elena had a birthday before you left, and your mum's was after that. Did she like the iPod?"

"Oh, yeah, and Teela, Julie and Bill went together and got her a bunch of CD's of wizarding bands." He chuckled softly, "They formed a company to market them…"

"Maybe they should get in touch with some of the bands on the L-stations," she suggested. She cocked her head, "Do they need an angel investor?"

"We'll let them ask, Julie's a bold, forthright Gryff, remember?" She chuckled, and he continued, "The Queen has apparently gone to town with this whole 'Terran Empire' thing, and your mother seems to agree. They all went over to London, our moms had some long meetings with the Queen and Lady Sarah, while our brothers and sisters got the shopping done in Diagon." He gave a gentle snort, "Carson crashed, and William, Prince Harry's older brother, carried him around like a backpack all day. Teela says she's got photos. We'll have to get a final fitting done at Parv and Lav's shop. Get over there a day or so early for the last-minute stuff."

"Speaking of Teela, you'll never guess who we ran into on Mangione," Mattie commented.

"Oh, a JLA member with a big red 'S' on their chest? Spitcurl?"

She nodded, "That fellow. He just happened to be in the neighborhood, y'see, and he thought he'd stop by. He mentioned to me that he had run into Teela in London, and she had whispered to him 'I know who you are.'" She smirked a bit and cocked her eyebrow, "For some reason, he was slightly nervous about that."

"Gee, wonder why," he replied. "He doesn't need to be, though. She does have an eye for detail, though, and let's face it, _glasses_ for a disguise?" He snorted in disgust.

"That's what Uncle Eddie said … Edward Nigma?" she clarified. "Riddler? The guy that's dating Professor Sinestra, has an adoptive daughter? You've met him, I think."

"Think so …" he said, running through a mental list. He shook it off, "Anyway, speaking of relatives, they all now have Secret Service bodyguards, and from what Mom was saying, that was at the insistence of the Queen. Mom was not happy with it, none of them were. However, it comes with the fact that we're allegedly now royalty, and both of our moms are on your regency council, along with McGonagall."

"Joy. I like Crystal, she's like a big sister, but…"

"Something else," he added. "You and I are scheduled for what Mom called royalty lessons. At least they're for credit." He sighed, "I don't like my life being planned out like this."

"I was perfectly happy with a trade federation," Mattie admitted. She waved a hand at the ceiling, "Let's face it, the Elders could never have afforded any type of defense, even if they were honest. Warships are damned expensive, and we're not even looking at aircraft carriers, but destroyers and frigates."

"The thing is, I like these people," Arthur said. "I can't simply turn my back on them and leave them defenseless. That light cruiser was a joke as a meaningful deterrent." He sighed, "If doing things right means royalty classes, then…" He waved his hand, "Diplomacy, etiquette, negotiations, that kind of thing; one of my tutors is Prince Harry; one of yours is Princess Beatrice, she's about your age." He sighed, "The problem, as we found out on Windfall, is that really doesn't have any relevance outside the Sol system."

"To a certain extent," she agreed. "There's just too many ways to deal with different cultures, look at the fight between you and Miika." He grunted, and she continued, "I'm proud of Sprink, by the way. She did a lot of the negotiating at Frostbite Falls…" He raised an eyebrow, and she clarified, "… the frosty bloke's planet. She also did a good tag-team with Captain Alvarez on P'wheel. She just lacks self-confidence."

Arthur grunted again, commenting, "By the way, Teela says she, meaning Beatrice, was thinking of MI-6 as a career." He tapped his girlfriend's nose, "Apparently one of the duties of royalty is public service, she'd be the first Royal going into intelligence work, and since she's fifth in line, the odds are against her succeeding to the throne."

"What about you? Imperial Intelligence?"

"Teela says I'm nosy enough. No, I'm no Bond, and I don't like martinis. I'm already Imperial Consort, but what exactly does that entail?" He shrugged, and she said, "I had a thought about that. If I'm going to be Queen, I don't intend to be a figurehead, cutting ribbons and launching ships. No, I'm going to be a strong executive type Queen, which means that we need to, one, figure out line of succession, and two, since I can't be everywhere, I need someone that I can absolutely trust to go and resolve problems for me." She shifted in his lap, looking at him, "I'm not saying fixing traffic tickets or plane crashes, but economic and civil rights problems, that kind of thing. You would answer to me, above System Governor level."

"I might do things a different way than you would," he warned.

"S'ok. As long as you can justify it to me, and it follows Imperial law. You'd be my troubleshooter, my…"

"…Your Imperial Investigator." He rubbed his chin, "I'll have to think on that. Changing the subject, the _Olentangy_ has a full load, and was heading back from Uranus. Apparently the tractor emitter was really squirrelly, but Hank says that gave him some ideas for his grav-cycle."

She gave a soft grunt, "Damnit, I forgot about that."

"What?"

"I picked up an early Christmas present for you on Tosul," she admitted. "A grav-cycle, it's going to show up Hank."

He grunted. "Keep it and give me one of the local's tricycle bikes. They run on methanol and have a ceramic engine, which is what he was thinking to charge the bike's batteries." He circled his finger over the bridge of her nose, and her eyes crossed, then she snapped at his finger.

She gave him a quick hug and kiss, then said, "Let me skin out of this and run through the shower first. I really need one." She poked his ribs; "Scrub my back? While we still can?"

"Wench," he said, standing up and dumping her on the floor with a squeak. He reached down to help her up, "Get the water going, I'm going to call down and give them, what, a half-hour's warning?"

"Meanie!" she pouted. "That should be fine. We can talk later; I need to get caught up on my email."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Fair evening, Mistress Lady Lantern," one of the girls said as she saw Mattie and dropped to kneel, her head to the kitchen floor. A gesture stopped the rest of them, and Mattie moved to pull the first girl to her feet. "Is that what you do with Arthur?"

"Master Lord Arthur held us in your name; Mistress Lady Lantern," she replied, head still down. "With your return…"

"Ah." She reached over and tipped up the slave girl's chin. "What goes for Arthur goes for me. My name is Mattie, and unless there are specific reasons for you to go all… slave on me, like one of those wild parties Arthur likes to throw, that's how I expect to be addressed and treated." She addressed the room, "Is that clear enough?"

"I called Governor Sullivan and asked her to annul Miika's conviction; I freed him earlier today, as part of my agreement with him." That caused some excitement, he asked, "What's the latest with First?"

"Former master Daala has bound her to a post, milord," one of the girls reported. "She has declared herself a stolen free female, and taken the name of 'Clarissa', and has refused work on that basis, milord. Former master Daala did not like that, and re-gagged her; striking her so that she may relearn her place (she made a hand gesture) as a slave." She pointed to where the monitoring equipment was set up, "The Terran forces are waiting for darkness, milord, to affect a rescue, and there is debate on confronting former master Daala. Former master Daala's boat, the _N'cio_, has been moved to where it is no longer accessible to former master Daala."

"Excellent," Mattie said with a wide grin. She started to search for something, a girl moved to assist her as Arthur asked, "First… err, Clarissa is all right?"

"She seemed undamaged, master," another girl said. "Former master Daala is very old, and weak, and it was not much of a blow, more of a … slap, master. The discussion among the watching Terrans was if they should intervene; the decision was made if he continued to do so, they would." She shuddered, "Former master Daala is an escaped slave in a judicial collar, and has struck and bound free female Clarissa…" she shuddered again.

"I see," Mattie said. "Generally, under Terran law, kidnapping, which is what we call the theft of a free person, is a very serious crime." She blew on her tea, "I think we can allow Daala one slap if it will set the hook more firmly."

"'Set the hook', milady?"

"In fishing," she replied. "You have a barbed metal hook that you put your bait on, something the fish will try to eat. When it bites, you feel that in your line, and you give the line a jerk, setting the hook in the fish's jaw so he can't escape." She took a sip of tea, "This way, he has not only escape, but battery charges. Now, what do we do with Daala? Arrest him?"

"The original plan was to arrange things to politically neutralize him," Arthur said. "Apparently when Miika and Daala were collared, someone at the Ministry of Justice went ahead and …" he made a snipping gesture. "I apologized to Miika, and made arrangements to run him through a med-tank at his convenience. As far as Daala…" he shrugged.

"Milord, what happened to former minister Baasht?" one of the girls asked from the stove. "Five minutes, is the table prepared?" she added. Two of the girls went to attend to that as Arthur replied, "He sold out, his island refuge is part of the DHL group of islands … I'll tell you later," to Mattie's raised eyebrow. "It's probably the smallest one there, but you could swim between several of the islands." He regarded the girl, "Why?"

"While former minister Baasht is in exile, he is not a wanted criminal or a slave, is he, milord?"

"No, he can come and go as he pleases, in theory at least."

Another one of the girls chuckled, "Oh, you have a nasty mind…" she said, loading up a tray. "Master, if my evil sister is thinking what I am, it would be a shame to deprive former minister Baasht of the services of a personal slave. While I doubt any of his former slaves would wish to volunteer, we do know of one slave that would be most eager NOT to have any contact with the outside world…"

"And would that particular slave's name happen to start with, oh, 'D'?" a girl asked.

"We do not know if this particular MALE slave has received a slave name," another girl said. "However, former master Daala always said we were fortunate to be his slaves," she commented dryly. "It is a kindness to share such good fortune."

Another girl held a door, "Milord, milady, midmeal is served."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Saturday, August 10, 2002: 18:02 (GMT) Firsday 16 Sextus, 162 17:11  
Windfall, 'site six':  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"We added something to his stew," the voice whispered as a form materialized out of the gloom. With a click, her gag unlocked, and he tucked it in her belt. "He's going to sleep deeply, and when he wakes up, you'll have escaped into the jungle along the beach after untying his boat. He'll see the boat on a sandbar, and your footprints going down the beach. He should remember you're wearing a locking gag, and are cuffed, and will assume you'll either come back to him, or die in the jungle. How quietly can you move?"

She whispered, "There's a reason slaves wear bells, but I really need to suction, unless you can take my belt off?"

"Not here," he replied quietly, untying her ankles. "I'm going to break the cross-piece, that's how you escaped. There's a mud patch a few meters from the dock; leave muddy footprints, remember, you undid the knots with your hands still cuffed behind you," and he freed her hands.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I need to carry you here," the human told her, waving her onto a patch of grass. "There a lot of sharp thorns and bushes here, you're not wearing protective clothing. We've got some for you, but it's at camp."

"Thank you," and climbed on his back as he crouched, then shoved through the undergrowth.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"I want to help," she said. "You rescued me, it's only right," she said quietly. They were a few kilometers from Daala's camp; the human camp was on higher ground, with two of them keeping an eye on Daala at all times.

The camp commander considered her; then nodded. "You can help keep an eye on him, but you'll do what your partner says, you're not trained for this."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"This is amazing," she whispered, watching the small monitor, she had never noticed any surveillance equipment when she had been in Daala's camp. "Oh, he's waking up. Do we need to call the camp?"

"No need, they have the same feed, just like they do back in Riverside," her partner whispered. "Goes up to the satellite, I'll show you the dish when we get back."

She refocused her … she didn't remember the name of the device, a distance-viewing thing she held to her eyes. "Oh, look, he's leaving, he'll expect to find me still there…" She licked her lips, watching as Daala stopped, shocked as he saw the broken crossbar and bit of rope that had bound her ankles. He turned, moving as quickly as possible to the dock, she heard him cry out in rage as he saw his boat on a sandbar, beyond his reach. He cursed at length, moving closer to examine the docks, then screamed again in rage before kicking a post and moving back toward his camp. She sighed happily, "That was worth it…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"He's finished the stew," Clarissa whispered into her hush mike. She ducked down, she didn't want to be seen, or have her collar lights spotted in the gloom as Daala walked toward where he had set up a place to suction. Initially, it had been intended for any slaves that accompanied Daala, now he was forced to use it himself. She watched him through the night-viewer, his collar lights glowing in the dark as he grumbled and pumped the device.

She watched him go back to the small hut, pull the door closed and changed the viewer to watch inside the hut. She marveled again at the resolution, she was able to read Daala's notes to himself; he added '_Empty suction pot on garden_' to his list, then blew his candle out and lay back on his small cot. In a few minutes, she picked up his snores, and whispered, "He just went to sleep. Let's give him thirty minutes or so."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 10, 2002: 17:49 (GMT)  
****Eta Orionis,**_ Scythe_**, Loading docks: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

J'lan looked on as the ship's slaves organized the newly purchased slaves into neat rows, sorted by the last digit of their collar number. As usual, the new girls were cuffed and wore feeding hoods with the integrated leashes, they knelt quietly, unsure about what lay ahead, but no doubt glad to be away from the hotel and almost certain death a few weeks away. One of the girls turned and trotted over to her, presenting a datapadd and kneeling politely. "Mistress, a total of four hundred eighty seven slaves are ready for loading."

"As soon as the ship gets here," J'lan replied. Quietly, she asked, "I haven't heard. Did you find the older slave you sought?"

"Yes, mistress," 22409 replied, equally quietly. "She was about to be sold, but I understand the Captain outbid for her against the beasts," and she smiled quietly. She turned on hearing a whistling sound, and watched the _Scythe_ settle into one of the temporary loading bays. "Back to work, mistress. With your permission?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 10, 2002: 12:47 (GMT) Firsday 16 Sextus, 162 06:31  
Windfall, Baasht's camp: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

There was the hiss of an injector, followed by "Wake up, slave. Wake up."

He blinked, shaking his head in the early morning light, "What? What's happening?"

"Wake up, slave," a voice said, followed by a kick to the ribs. Daala 'oofed' and rolled over, finding his hands cuffed behind him. He blinked and looked up from where he lay in the dirt, "Baasht? What's going on?"

"What is going on, you lazy slave, is that it is well past time for you to be up and at your tasks," Baasht said, unlocking the end of Daala's leash and giving it a yank. "The Terrans have donated a good amount of equipment, including you, that was cluttering up one of their islands; they asked if I was interested. It needs to be put away and mid-meal started. Now, on your feet, lazy slave, and get to work!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 10, 2002: 22:07 (GMT) Firsday 16 Sextus, 162 21:50  
Windfall, East Port, **_Riikk's public house_**: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Fair day, masters, and welcome to Riikk's public house," the tavern girl said, putting down some small disks. She pulled out a small datapadd from her apron pocket, "Would you like to hear of the daily specials? We have some new beers in stock; the manager is seeking public opinion as to suitability. If you are interested, there is a free half-pitcher to try."

"It seems a popular choice," Eaavn said, gesturing at the crowded tavern. He raised an eyebrow at his partner, who nodded. "Your master is doing well, we hear you are expanding, but what is a public house?"

"It is a Terran term, master," she said. "As I understand it, it is a house, open to the public for food and drinks, but also with rooms to rent to travelers." There were 'Ahs' of understanding, and she continued, "It is usually shortened to simply 'pub'. However, the Terrans have invested in our business, we are advertising in this area, we are expecting several new girls soon to handle the demand, and we are adding rooms to rent. The free beer is part of that advertising," she grinned. "Do masters have a beer preference?"

"I think we'll each take a sample pitcher, girl," Jeesn said, eyes flicking to Eaavn. "Your choice, and I think a large bowl of your good stew for me."

"That sounds good, stew for me also," Eaavn said. The girl nodded, holding down her datapadd, "Masters would be kind enough to insert a digit here?" She tapped her padd, "It is a bio check," and she smiled, "Nobody would want an accidental poisoning, after all."

"How does that work?" Jeesn asked.

"I am from Eta Orionis, and so my code is…" she inserted a finger, and the lights changed to a green, blue, and two green. "As long as the last two are green, we are safe, masters."

"Interesting," Jeesn said, getting blue, yellow, green and green. "What happens if there are incompatible colors?" he asked as Eaavn got the same lights.

"The menu changes, master," the girl said, tapping her datapadd and putting it back into her apron pocket. "I shall return in a moment." She nodded and left, as Jeesn leaned back, "How is business?"

"Busy," his brother said. "The Terrans are installing several colony sites, and they require ships to move passengers and cargo between them. In addition…" the girl returned with a large metal tray, flipping open a small stand. She put down four glasses and two pitchers of beer, pouring two glasses from each. "I will return with your snacks in a moment, masters."

"We heard this place had excellent service, my complements to your owner, girl."

"Thank you, master, I am a part-owner," the girl said. "Part of my salary goes to invest in the business, so I am motivated to do my best for myself and the tavern. Another Terran idea." She nodded and moved off, the two turning to look after her. After a minute, Eaavn lifted his glass of beer, drawing the Source's circle on the table. He took a gulp of beer, and held the glass up to the light, looking through the slightly reddish brew as he considered. He finally nodded, taking another gulp, "Good beer. As I was saying, in addition to the cargo and passenger ships, each colony site requires small boats, what they call 'tugs' for barges, low flat unpowered boats, and they have the most interesting ideas for propulsion…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 11, 2002: 13:07 (GMT) Firsday 16 Sextus, 162 13:21  
Windfall, Riverside, Governor's Office: ****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Christine's intercom buzzed, "Ma'am, you have some visitors, they aren't on the schedule."

She frowned, touching the key, "Well, who are they?"

"Deputy Governor Castellano and Milady Lantern. I've asked them to wait."

Growling to herself, Christine considered her secretary was getting entirely too bureaucratic. "You told the _Queen_ to wait? Send them in, please." She ran her hands through her hair; then stood as the door opened, "Benni! Mattie! Please come in and have a seat …"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Whoa, you've got to try that sometime, Christine," Benni said after everyone had been supplied with tea. "Flying on Lantern Air … it's something."

"One of the few things I like about the Ring," Mattie admitted. "Going FTL all by yourself is something, too, but I'd like to ask you not to mention this Ring when you get back to Earth, Christine. I've still got family and friends, and a price on my head from the local Mob boss."

"Ouch," Christine replied. "How do you get it cancelled?"

"Marone is the only one that can cancel the contract on the two of us – I was his _consigliore_, his business manager, and I violated _omerta_ when I sang to the Feds," Benni said. "Mattie has mentioned that she has me in protective custody, but not where. Even if that leaked, a hit would still need coordinates and interstellar transport to get here, and I'm not exactly unarmed." She took a sip of tea, "The only other way to cancel the hit would be to take out Marone."

"I'm not putting out a contract for a hit," Mattie said, and gestured. "Water past the bow. I wanted to talk about system security. When we were at Mangione, a class four world, I raided a small warehouse the Corps has there, and snagged a couple of buoys." She extracted a small package from somewhere, and Benni held up a hand. "Wait a second. Where did you get that from?"

"A little dimensional pocket."

Benni digested this, "And did you have it when we were in Camp Cupcake together?" Mattie nodded, and Benni blew out a puff of air, "Oh, boy. I'm almost afraid to ask what you've got in there."

"My camera, a few knick-knacks and odds 'n ends." Mattie changed the subject, leaning forward to place a small grey box (slightly larger than two stacked decks of playing cards) on the desktop. "Inside this box is an Oan buoy. Once Amber and I initialize it with our Rings, it will tap power from the main Battery on Oa, so not only can a Lantern use it to recharge, it will serve as a distress beacon for any available Lantern." She sat back, "It will also serve as a communications relay; and it's used for that by Lantern Bank. Amber's set one up in her home world's orbit, there's one in Earth orbit, and we set one in orbit for P'wheel." She sat back, picking up her tea again. "That was the primary reason we took so long to get back. You'll have a remote that you can use to trigger it between the two of you, and to communicate with any responding Lantern."

"Why doesn't every planet have one of these?" Benni asked, picking up the small box and looking inside. "Gawd, this thing's the size of a walnut!"

"Oans build on a subatomic scale. You ought to see _their_ system defenses," Mattie said. "They're only placed by a Lantern, or by Lantern Bank, which is essentially the same thing. As far as the average Galactic knows, they're the only real-time interstellar communication system available, and the Oans and Lanterns aren't sharing. It works on a different method than our Sisal network, and I don't know how it does, but its got a lot better bandwidth than we do." She sipped her tea, "One reason I was happy to hear about our mail boat – it's misdirection. If we've got a few of those, and supply ships, it will disguise the presence of the Sisal network, and any decent ship's sensors will pick up the green Oan energy, which should deter any pirates, except the really stupid ones." She waved her right hand, "Like they pick up my Ring. Anyway, we've licensed the Terran bank Gringotts, out of Switzerland with Lantern Bank, so we'll have proper interstellar banking and commercial services. That's one reason Mr. Burnet came along. I've been working on catching up on my email, and I had some questions …"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Y'know, everyone has been busting their butts for a couple months now," Benni said. I'd like to propose a planetary beach day, a day off. We can introduce the locals to the delights of barbecue and volleyball…"

"Oh, that sounds good…" Mattie said with a soft moan. "Nothing to do but lie in the warm sand and try to catch up my sleep…"

"No slave, no free… just beer, sun and rest. I take it we have a consensus?" The other two nodded, and Christine said "We'll schedule it for this coming Fifthday. That's when you lot have to leave, isn't it?" Mattie nodded, and Christine said, "Moving on…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So why do you want a pilot's license?" Benni asked.

Christine took a sip of tea, "We're going to have people all over the continent; I'm sure that I'll be needing to drop in on them from time to time. I figured we could take that wrecked float plane, an off-world design, box it up and ship it back and haggle with someone like Cessna or de Havilland for a Terran plane and spare parts."

Mattie grunted, "In reading over various emails, and I'm still not through all of them, Transport Canada will be sending some people. They'll be training our people for things like harbor and airport operations, proper signage, lighting, buoys, and so forth. Since we'll have classes available here, I don't see why you can't run through them." She took a sip, "Also, Christine, you've probably been declared 'missing, presumed dead'. I've asked our people on Earth to look into that, to get you resurrected in Canada." She glanced at Benni, "That also means that you two don't travel together – continuity of government, you know."

"As ex-Mafia, I feel rather strange about asking this, but what about proper cops?" Benni said. "It's a pity Jim Gordon's dead, I had a lot of respect for him." Christine made a questioning sound, and she explained, "Gotham City's police commissioner. Incorruptible, he was an honest man in a city that exported corruption." She waved her finger, "Mine and Mattie's home town."

"Ah," Christine said. "What about getting a few Mounties?"

"We can," Benni said. "A lot of the sites are bringing along a cop or two, what I was thinking was more on the 'federal' level (she finger-quoted). We could probably get someone from FBI or Scotland Yard, too. We'd need to standardize training, primarily, as well as things like weapons and equipment." She took a sip of her own tea, "We can add a section to the global supply catalog."

"Right…" Mattie said, making notes. "Next item, fire engines. We're doing a lot of building with wood …"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 11, 2002: 20:10 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Corfu, Imperial Marine recruit training:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Gunny Sink looked on from the holodeck's control room at the simulation. She shook her head again at the … fidelity of the WayneTech equipment. They knew this was a training sim, but by god, it sure as hell _seemed_ like they were aboard a ship, fighting pirates. The sim was the colony ship _New Amsterdam_, and the scene she watched was the portside personnel lock. The ship's inboard lock was damaged and no longer functional (a hole blown in the armor glass would do that), so the pirates had set up a temporary, plastic pressure lock for their boarding tube. Now, (hologram) passengers and crew waited, drugged and chained together to be taken to the pirate's shuttle while three pirates stood watch, two in unpowered armor, one in light power armor.

The pirates were skeletally thin but surprisingly strong, an avian species with atrophied wings. One of the two in unpowered armor stood duty with the lock's controls, but carried a shock-rod and sidearm on its waist. The other watched over their prisoners, a small 'bullpup' laser shoulder-slung. The third, and last, was the main security for the position. This pirate was wearing light power armor; it carried a complex belt fed weapon. The pirates' major weakness was their suit helmets; their tactical problem of having to defend a fixed point without cover as well as their captives. One advantage they had was their habit (or training) of constantly scanning, and they remembered to look UP as well.

"Okay, Gunny," one of the techs said. "Anything mean and nasty you want? How would you handle this?"

"Me? A couple of flash-bangs and anti-laser smoke, then a tangle-net grenade and rush 'em. As far as this situation?" She stroked her chin. This was 'bois', their Frenchwoman's rotation in command of this small detachment of half-dozen troops. She was probably the hardest working of the Gunny's company, but was also one of the few that had been civilian, a Paris cop; not former military. She had said once that she was there, not only for her own honor, but that of France as well. Her nickname came from her clarinet she kept as personal baggage.

"Simulate the ship taking a hit, or an explosion somewhere else, and vary the lighting and gravity – null to, oh, plus three."

"Evil…" the tech replied, fingers dancing on his keyboard. "Seven seconds," he said, hitting the 'enter' key. They waited; then the (simulated) deck heaved, tilting slightly as the lights flickered and strobed. A klaxon sounded; then was cut off. The pirates, used to this kind of thing happening, reached down to activate their boot magnets as the line of drugged prisoners were alternately pulled to the deck and floated off it.

"C'mon, bois, they're distracted…" Gunny Sink murmured, but so were the troops, who cursed as they shifted their feet to activate their boot magnets, attaching them to the diamond plate steel deck. With a few quick hand gestures, bois gave her orders, and one quickly stood, dropping two smoke grenades as bois rolled, aiming her shotgun at the complex belt-fed weapon's action (and the pirate's hands), while Chui, their best shot, gave the pirate's helmets a short burst each. As the three pirates crashed to the deck, spasming as they tried to breathe, Tatya rushed them, kicking their weapons away and putting a short burst into each of them. Bois studied the console; then disconnected the plastic passage to the pirate's shuttle and gave the console a charge from the shock-stick. One of them gathered up the drugged prisoners as Bois called in, then they moved off.

"Well, Gunny?" the tech asked.

"Bois exposed herself un-necessarily, but they took the position, rendered it useless to the enemy, and all without friendly casualties," the Marine said. "Not bad at all for a Paris cop…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Thursday, August 15, 2002: 23:55 (GMT) ****Fifthday, 20 Sextus, 162, 05:42  
Windfall, Port Lincoln, beach:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Y'know, I could get used to this…" Mattie said as she walked with Arthur through the still-warm sand.

"So could I, London doesn't have anything like this," he agreed. He opened the cover, removing the steel grills and pouring charcoal from the burlap sack. As he tied that off, Mattie squirted alcohol on the chunks; then cast _Incendio_ to light the fire, then _Scourgify_ on the grills. "It should be ready for us to cook breakfast soon," she said, sheathing her wand and putting her arms over his shoulders as Alpha brightened in the east.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"It's known as an 'fried egg sandwich' and 'hash browns', Mattie explained to the girl, who looked somewhat dubiously at her. "If you say so, mistress."

"Put some spices on it, under the bread," she was advised, as Mattie handed her a glass of fruit juice. Arthur flipped a row of hash browns; putting down some bread to toast, then started another row of omelets. He lowered the cover and took a drink, his unbuttoned white shirt flapping in the breeze.

"Go ahead, it's good," Benni advised her. "We're thinking about adding them to the menus in our pubs," she added to the collared girl, putting her hash brown patty on the sandwich; then taking a bite. The former slave raised her eyebrow, copied Benni; and then took a small bite. She chewed, then swallowed and blinked. "It is…" she admitted.

"No utensils to clean, either," Arthur said, flipping the hash browns, then put them in a tray. He started a new batch; then closed the cover again to take a bite off his own sandwich as the collared girl wandered off.

"Nicole," Benni called, and the shorthaired slave changed course, walking over to her. "Yes, mistress?" she asked, and Benni said, "You mentioned you wanted to go to one of the sites to learn machining and metalworking?"

"Yes, mistress," the girl said. "I've always been interested in machines, Master Frank and Master Otto have helped me, but I'd like something more permanent." She accepted a plate, and took a bite.

"We've got one of the incoming colony sites with a fellow that's military trained, he'll be here in about four weeks. Blacksmith, machinist, and gunsmith," adding to Arthur, who had turned to listen, "US Army, from Texas." Arthur nodded, "Sounds like my Uncle Rich in Newark, only he was Navy, served on carriers and in Norfolk." He addressed Nicole, "You'll learn a lot, but it's very precise work, you'll need to work to hundredths or thousandths of a millimeter, and you'll need to repeat it in production."

"How many gunsmiths are coming?" Mattie asked, dropping another hash brown on Nicole's plate.

"Three that I know of, all military veterans," Benni said. "You've done well with the rebuilding shop, Nicole. You've got some good work habits, are you willing to sign an apprentice contract when he gets here?"

"Sounds like you'll be busy," Arthur said. "It will be a lot of different types of work, but in a few years, you could have your own shop, you'll need to think and be creative about solving problems. It wouldn't just be guns, you'd be doing things like pumps, building new, repairing them, gears and machines, and you'll need to be able to teach others as well." He opened the cover, turning the bread; then putting a fresh sandwich on her plate. "A lot of work, mental and physical, but it needs to be done, and from what my friend Charlie says, I think you'll do well." He gestured at her plate, "Go think about it while you eat; I'll be here for a little while more, if you have questions about the work, I'll do what I can to answer them."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

People looked up at the sharp double-boom, looking around for the source of the sonic boom. Someone looked up, pointing as the white ship appeared, heading to the docking bays and kicking up sand.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Can everyone hear me?" the young slave girl said to the rows of gagged, hooded slaves kneeling in front of her. "My name is Nicole, and a few months ago I was a hotel slave like you. I knelt and said 'Yes, master,' and my only identity was my collar, I was 21928." She looked at the slaves, "First of all, you will not be sacrificed to any gods, especially one named 'Hoki Poki', that is a story for the slave masters." She smiled, "I assume none of you have a problem with lying to them?"

"Second thing; when I was slave, I would watch the vids in my hotel room while my use-master was out. I would dream of being free, of being able to do and go where I wanted. I was always fascinated by machines." She looked at the rows of slaves, "Here, I can apprentice to a sensei, a teacher, who will instruct me in this, who values what I know, and not simply how much pain he can inflict, or raping me. Think on what you've always wanted to do, the Terrans are putting in colonies, they need girls that can think outside her collar."

"Last, I know that most of you were bred slaves, like I am. The System Governor is acting as your elder; she is whom you will speak to. She herself is a former Enhanced girl, so she knows. Now, while we're removing your hoods, think on what you wish, and if you have questions, we will answer them." Looking over the rows of girls, she said, "Those girls whose collars end in '0', let's start with you…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Well, this ends our summer," Mattie said, looking over luggage that evening. "I think I've got everything," looking over her checklist.

"Yeah," Arthur said. "Mr. Burnet is ready, we'll pick up Charlie, Sprink and Governor Sullivan. Elena will be flying us up to the _Manhattan_." He picked up his duffle and slung his laptop case over his shoulder, "Ready?"

"We're going to miss you," Clarissa said from the doorway, reaching up to give him a hug. "Be safe, master."

"You're free, you don't have to call anyone 'master'," Arthur said, returning the hug. "Good luck with your business, I want to hear how it goes." Mattie took her hands in hers, "Good luck," she said.

Clarissa sniffled, "The shuttle is here," then ran off, hands over her face.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Arthur?" Elena asked as they prepared to leave her shuttle. "Ask you a favor?"

"You're my sister," he said, moving out of the traffic and giving her a hug. "No favors required. What can I do for you?"

She blushed slightly, "I don't know when Dad will be back from mining Uranus, but if you see him before you leave for school, please give him this letter." She passed over an envelope, "His eyes only, please."

He nodded, "Can I talk to him about the … incident?"

"If he asks, just him, and please try to be objective, I mean, well…" Arthur hugged her again, "I know you had an argument with Gruber, and, well…" He folded her into a long hug, she sniffled a bit, "Write to me, you big doofus."

"'Kay," he replied. He picked up his duffle, then leaned into the cockpit, "Hey, Helen, keep an eye on my sister, okay?"

"You know it, Morton, now get the hell out of here," she replied. "Damn it, now you're making me cry, and we _still_ don't have any goddamn paper towels!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


	6. 16 31 August 2002

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*******  
For disclaimers, please see Chapter One.  
6: 16 - 31 August 2002  
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****Friday, August 16, 2002: 11:18 (GMT)  
Terran system, **_Olentangy_**, flight deck:****  
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_To: Mom & Dad  
From: Misty  
Date: 16 August, 2002  
Subject: Space Travel_

_Hello again! _

_Well, we just left the Asteroid belt, and it looks just the same as it did on the outgoing flight: a whole lot of nothing (which is actually good!). I'm not saying that the scenery isn't spectacular; I can look up through this single, pure hemisphere of glass on the flight deck with crystal clarity, not even a nose print to smudge it, and the view is magnificent. I firmly believe that anyone that looks at that and doesn't see the hand of God has no soul. _

_So far, we're still on the '99 percent boredom' part of travel. I did have some nail-biting moments when Hank had to go EVA to work on (again!) a balky tractor emitter. He thinks it's working all right now, and we won't need it again until the next trip. Hopefully the people at L5 can figure it out. As far as our cargo, we've got a full tank of Deuterium (__2__H) and another tank of __3__He. My major problem in handling it is keeping it cold enough; it has to stay within a degree or two of absolute zero to stay liquid. However, once we get it back to L4 and offloaded, we'll be very, very rich._

_Well, when I start the new term, I can truthfully say that I'll be one of very few people at OSU to be an actual, honest-to-god astronaut. That will be great on my resume! grin _

_Well, that's about all I have for now. We should be back in orbit in a week, I'll give you an actual phone call from L4. _

_Love,  
Misty_

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Friday, August 16, 2002: 15:55 (GMT)  
****Fifthday, 20 Sextus, 162, 20:42 (WFT +1)  
****Windfall, Port Lincoln, auditorium:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Greetings," Nicole told the group of rescued slave girls. "I am Nicole, formerly 21928, and I am here to give you a more complete explanation of what is happening." She looked around, "I know that you are not used to sitting on chairs, but that is what a free female does. The Terrans who have bought us as slaves will be training us to think for ourselves, to learn a skill, to stand on our feet as free females." She raised her hand, "You do not have to answer, but when I was collared, I resisted, I fought the slave-masters. If you did, you will have an easier time, I think."

She lowered her hand and leaned against a table. "Like you, I am a bred WorkForce female, but I don't consider myself a slave. I consider myself a free female who happens to wear a judicial collar, and that is due to my own actions. Part of being a free person is to take responsibility for yourself; I tried to escape, I struck my use-mistress and bound her." There was a collective gasp of horror, and Nicole pulled up her smock, turning to show her left thigh and the penalty brands there. "The Captain, my owner, allowed me to speak for myself, and he judged that if I had known the situation, I would not have done so. That is why I live, the Mistress in question demanded my hair shorn and penalty brands to accompany a judicial collar." She ran her hand over her short hair, "I think you'll agree, I was fortunate, but I also learned a lesson. The Terrans will treat you fairly; they expect honesty and your best effort. If you do not know something, they will instruct you. I do not call them perfect, none under the Source is," and she made the Source's circle with her left hand.

Nicole regarded them before continuing, "They are colonizing the planet, they are planting small seedling colonies, and there is a great deal of work needing done. For this, you will be able to sign a contract as a free female, the System Governor is a former slave herself, an Enhanced girl. She will serve as your Elder, your First Girl, watching out for you until you have completed your training. You may then wear a dark collar and call yourself a truly free female. Who has questions so far?"

One girl raised her hand, "Mistress, I…"

Nicole's hand stopped her. "Before you continue, I must say the Terrans find the use of 'Master' or 'Mistress' offensive. They realize we are conditioned to use those terms, but they prefer others. For a male, use 'Sir', for a female use 'Ma'am', and for a teacher of any sex, use 'Sensei'. They will not beat you if you slip and use the other terms, but try not to. Your question?"

"Thank you, Mis… was it Sensei?" Nicole nodded, and she continued, "I do not know what I wish to do."

"Do not be concerned," Nicole replied. "Over the next few days, you and all newly arrived girls will be taking what are called 'aptitude tests'. They will measure your different abilities, and there are no passing or failing marks. When we combine your individual scores, we should have several ideas for you."

"Please expand on this, mis… sensei," another girl said.

"Let us say that you have taken these examinations, and they point out that you like travel and routines, and dislike surprises. The Terrans are placing smaller, seedling colonies, to make certain of survival; a very practical approach. They are linking these in terms of cargo, mail, and passenger service with riverboats, which are being built as we speak. These boats will need crews, so you would sign a contract to work as crew on a boat, serving and living aboard it, learning the machinery and the ways of working on it, taking care of the boat and the passengers. When the boat reached a seedling, which it would do on a regular schedule, you would bind it to the dock, assist in the loading and unloading, the fueling, the maintenance, and so forth. Over time, you would learn more and more, and have greater responsibility, and would come to know the boat, the river, and the persons living in the seedlings." She leaned against a table, "On the shore, the seedling people would not simply stand about waiting for you, they would be servicing other boats, fueling vehicles, delivering mail and cargo, and preparing to ship it out, they would be staying equally busy. This is one example, and as I said, there is no passing or failing these examinations."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Of those seedlings, not only are there four hundred eighty two of you, but other girls, rescued earlier," she replied. "The Terrans currently have nine seedlings and are building more, we expect their arrival within three to four weeks; so you do not need to decide today. They will need people for all sorts of trades; and if you prove an ill-fit, there is enough work to try something else, it is not simply working in fields. I personally will be with a Sensei who will teach me machines; they have always fascinated me. Think about when you were alone in the hotel room, which vids you watched. If it was a travel vid; as I said you might learn how to work a boat, navigating it, maintaining it, and taking care of cargo and passengers. Next question?"

"Was the female one… Ma'am?" a girl asked. "How did you get a name?"

"One of my former masters, Master Frank named me," she replied. "A young, large Terran with black hair; he rolled his speech, a very good-looking male," and several of the girls nodded, recognizing him. "Unfortunately, his honor did not allow him to take a female." She tapped her collar, "A name will come, do not be concerned. Next question?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 16, 2002: 22:35 (GMT)  
Secundus System, Outbound, **_M/V (A) Manhattan_**, Owner's suite:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I hope you don't mind the acting ship's doctor escorting you," Doctor Cavite said. The tall African pressed the authorization card against the panel, and waited while they each palmed it to key the lock. "I need to get back to Jo'berg for a family matter. I must say Mr. Morton, Miss Wayne, it has been a distinct pleasure, and I do want to once again extend the Captain's apologies for the lack of separate cabins while we refurbish the passenger decks."

"That's quite all right, Doctor," Arthur replied as the door slid open. He shook hands, "I understand completely. We haven't had much time together, and I know you're short handed. If we can help, even if it's using a paintbrush, please don't hesitate to give us a call." He tapped Mattie's head, "For now, this one is once again running on too little sleep, so I'm going to insist she go to bed."

"Ah, there's only one bunk…" Dr. Cavite said, and his mouth twisted into a small grimace. "Perhaps we can make arrangements…"

"I have two brothers, he has four sisters, so it's nothing we haven't seen before," Mattie replied, and held up her left hand. "Besides, I've got a ring, so not to worry, Doctor."

She tried to stifle a yawn, and Arthur picked up her bag as well. "Good night, Doctor." The door shut as the disapproving doctor turned to leave, and he asked, "As much as I haven't minded sharing a bed with you on this trip, have you thought about what you're going to tell Father Tim the next time you take confession?"

"I'm going to tell him the truth, that we've slept together," and she enjoyed his reaction. "Not that we've had sex, just that we've slept together."

Arthur paused, cocked his head in thought and eventually snorted out a laugh. "Well, if he jumps to the wrong conclusion, you're the one who'll have to say the 'Hail Marys', not me."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie, are you alright?" Arthur asked as she suddenly sat up in the bunk, panting slightly.

"I just had the strangest dream," she replied as she shook her head, sitting on the side of the bunk. Brushing back her hair, she walked to the fresher for a glass of water.

"Stranger than Julie's with the bobble-headed Snapes?"

"Not that bad, but close." She took a breath, sitting on the bunk, "All the firsties were junior versions of Pamela Andersen, they were all blondes named Mary Sue; all perfect in every way, and they were all sorted into..." she took a deep breath before gulping the water. "They were all sorted into Slytherin." She shuddered; then put the glass on the deck.

"Okay, that's a weird one, but there's a bright side to it," he admitted. "They didn't go into Hufflepuff." She threw a pillow at him, and he grinned, "Maybe that great fraud Trelawney has something with dreams."

She smirked, "Oh, if the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then McGonagall will table-dance with Hagrid?"

He paused; then shuddered slightly, "You, my dear, have a weird imagination."

"Actually, that brings up something I'd like to go over with you, a problem that you'll have, not only as my consort, but as my Investigator." She picked her glass up from the deck, going over to the fresher to refill it. "Ice water, 250 milliliters, five degrees Celsius," she told it, then raised an eyebrow at him. He shook his head, and she continued, "You know I'm an Legilimens?"

He nodded, "And I am ever so grateful that you don't go mucking around in my head. Only in an extreme emergency, please."

She sighed, and walked with her glass to the desk. "I don't have any difficulty with that, but it does give us a problem. I haven't gone looking, but you, and most untrained people, broadcast their thoughts to a greater or lesser extent." She took a seat, leaning forward, "I've said it's like walking through a party, you hear snatches of thoughts. Before I was trained, I thought I'd go mad." She took a sip of water, "Bearing in mind that this is an extremely common … difficulty, not just with wizards, but with muggles too. You're not going to like where this goes, but it's something we have to discuss." He nodded reluctantly, and she continued, "Let me separate this into two halves, active and passive. Active would be my intentionally mucking around in your mind as an attack; passive is your broadcasting your surface thoughts. Think of a submarine's sonar. Most of the time, they cruise along, picking up whatever sounds are around, categorizing and analyzing them."

"Okay, I can see that."

"So I'm like a passive sonar, and you're a noise source to me. Let me give you an example. I say 'Social Security Number', and reflexively, you think of yours."

"Ouch," he said, confirming it.

"See? I know you don't like the whole idea of 'reading minds', but unfortunately, this is something you and lots of other people do reflexively, subconsciously. So, in a social situation, like a party, if I know who you are, it's a reasonable assumption that you'll have secrets." He nodded reluctantly, and she continued, "I would assume that any spy would also be a Legilimens; all they would have to do is dress up, hold a drink and mingle at a party with a memory charm running. So they meet and chat you up, talk about the weather, their kids or their families, whatever, all the while, since you're untrained in any sort of defense, they're riffling through your memories, and you don't even know it."

"How… how would I not know it?"

"By reading your surface memories, like the sub hears noise. You're standing there, broadcasting them, you're thinking that you have to work on x, y, and z, that your feet hurt, that this guy is a bore and an idiot, all with no clue and a smile on your face. The other guy is going to smile and make small talk, then go back to his office and write a report about what he pulled out of your mind. He doesn't care that you think he's a boring idiot, he wants to keep you talking, or rather, broadcasting." She leaned back in her chair, "Of course, it doesn't have to be a guy; they could get some sexy little bint to flirt with you. She comes across as arm candy, even if you politely tell her 'No', she can flirt long enough to pick up some information. Off-planet, it could be serving slaves, that would be a hell of a disguise." She gazed at him, "Back to the submarine. How do they block radiated noise?"

"Jealous of the arm candy?"

She snorted, "No, or the serving slave. This is intelligence work, spy versus spy, and you're an asset that needs protection. Answer the question, please."

"Um, by using materials that don't make noise, I guess."

"There's that, they have hull coatings that absorb noise, but if someone drops a wrench on a steel deck, it's going to go 'clang' and people will hear it. Mr. Thompson was former Royal Navy, they go to amazing lengths to put rubber coatings on things, but passive sonar is very sensitive. They'll hear that 'clang' miles away."

She took a drink, "Let's say that you're investigating kickbacks on naval contracts. Lots of money involved, billions of Euros as well as the lives of naval personnel. You meet Mr. Big Fish, who is a prime suspect, but you don't have enough evidence for an arrest. There's a mousy little attorney there, what happens?"

"Get rid of the attorney…" and she shook her head. "She's Fish's legal representative, she stays. What do you do, and in Fish's place, what would he do?"

"Everything's recorded, of course, …" he thought aloud. "I have a memory charm on, as well. We talk, I try to maneuver him into saying something damaging." He glanced at her, "He doesn't bite, or his attorney blocks him. The meeting is a waste of time."

"No, it's not. Fish or his attorney can read your thoughts regarding the investigation, because that's what is in your thoughts; that's what the meeting is about. They can then block any holes that they find on their side, plug any leaks. If your investigation goes anywhere, it does it at a snail's pace. On your side, if you're untrained, no matter how good an investigator you are; I'll agree that it's a waste of time. Remember, Mr. Fish doesn't have your morals and ethics, so he wouldn't have any problem doing that. However, _if_ you're trained in mental defense, it's a whole different ball game." She took a sip of water, "If you're trained in blocking your mind, you can not only protect those secrets, but misdirect them, feed them false information. That's what I'd like you to do, at least get training in passive defense."

"If I don't want to? If they try to mislead me or attack?"

"You would know it," she said, and sighed. "Look, you cast _protegro_ better than I do. You don't have a problem with defending yourself against hostile spells; this is simply a self-defense technique, like learning judo. You don't like anyone mucking around in your mind; neither do I. Isn't it better to at least _know_ when someone is?"

She regarded him in silence, watching his aura as it seethed with red spikes of rage. He stood, stalking back and forth, and she closed her mind to his mental ranting. He growled, "I really want to punch something. Are you reading me now?"

"Just your aura," she said. "Lots of spiky red rage. I turned up my shields so you could fume and swear in privacy, but you can't stay in this cabin the rest of your natural life. Questions? I said you wouldn't like it, but wouldn't you prefer to know, instead of burying your head in the sand?"

He growled again, "Why can't you keep your shields up like that all the time?"

"It's mentally exhausting, for one, and I normally keep my mental shields at a point where I don't radiate. If I did this all the time, it would leave open a huge hole in my defenses." She swiveled a bit in her chair, "Dear, _you're_ the one that's radiating, not me. All I'm suggesting is that we fix the problem."

"I don't like…"

"Fine. We know you don't like the idea of people mucking around in your mind. You can shout it from the rooftops, but it's not going to solve the problem." She slapped her hand on the desk, "Damnit, I'm trying to help you! You can be awfully pigheaded sometimes, Morton!"

"You're awfully used to getting your way, Wayne!"

"Fine! I'm a domineering bitch. Would you like to know exactly what I'm proposing for you before you reject it?" He glowered and nodded. She raised three fingers, folding the first one down. "Stage one, clearing your mind and erecting shields. Going back to our submarine, you're eliminating your own noise. Stage two, redirection and misinformation, and here our submarine is firing off decoys." She folded down the second finger. "Third, and this is optional, accepting and trapping an attack." She put away all three fingers, "Notice all three are passive, someone else is attacking you. I'm not proposing that you go on the attack yourself, nor would I be the one to train you, I'm not licensed to."

"You're awfully paranoid, Wayne."

"Better to be prepared, Morton." She sighed, "Look, it's not going to be decided tonight. We've got a week or so before we get back, I'm going to be raising the possibility for Sprink and Charlie as well. I just want you to think about it. As I said, I'm not licensed to teach it, we'd get a board-certified Master like I did."

"Who taught you?"

"Professor Dumbledore, he also taught Professors Harry and Snape. We can get someone else, but it does help when your instructor knows you." She stood, walking over to the replicator to recycle her water glass.

"I … I think I'd prefer someone else."

"Okay, but at least talk to Professor Dumbledore." She stretched up to kiss him, "You can be rather … opinionated, you know."

"Takes one," and he took a few deep breaths, "I'm not really … happy with having to shield myself, you know. Still, I can see using this defensively, so I'll talk to Dumbledore."

"Good. Can I drop my shields now?"

He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, "Okay. Sorry."

"Hey, this gives you a chance to think it over, it doesn't come at you cold." She tweaked his nose, "Are we going to argue every time I want to help you?"

"I hope not. Can you say the same?"

"Hey, I'm Ms. Reasonable."

"Yeah, right," and he reached over to tickle her ribs. "Cheat!" she said, and pulled him into bed.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 17, 2002: 05:05 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Corfu, Imperial Marine recruit training:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Gunny Sink watched as her troops spilled out of the shower, telling them, "Dry off, but do not dress. You will open the paper package on your bunks, you will ignore the box on top of your footlocker." She strolled up and down the squad bay; "This is your personal armor, it is laser-fitted to you. You are responsible for it, just like you are responsible for your personal weapons." She looked around, "First step, you will see a white plastic device, you will fit this to yourself, and yes, you will get used to wearing it." She gave them a minute, waiting for the inevitable grunts to stop; and then continued. "Second step, you will take a _small_ amount of the white talcum powder and lightly coat your legs, not forgetting your toes and arches up to your hips. You do not need to paint the room with it." She stopped and held up an item. "The black leggings are silk-lined to assist with ventilation and donning them, make sure they fit snugly, including between your toes; smooth them up your legs. There are fittings on the inside that will mate to the plastic device. Once it is snug, you will place your hands on your ankles and circle them clockwise. You will follow them up each leg, above and below your knees, and at the junction of your thighs and pelvis, your bikini line. This will tighten and seal the leggings; it will also activate the armor on your shins, calves and thighs, while retaining flexibility to your joints. Are there any questions so far?"

"Gunny, what's this for?" 'Mike' asked.

"This is both vacuum armor and light personal armor. If you are wearing nothing else, it will stop up to a .45 round and two millimeter needles." She looked down the squad bay, "Next step, you will once again apply a light coating of talcum powder from your hips to your collar bone and on your arms. Once this is done, you will notice a white band with two cups, this is a vacuum brassiere. There are no shoulder straps, it closes in front; you will notice that it is, A, a push-up variety, and B, there are small pads that go in your armpits." She strolled down the bay, "For those of you who have not previously worn a push-up bra, the pads go under and to the outside of the breast tissue. Make certain you are comfortable, I will get to the reason for a push-up in a moment."

She stopped to make a correction to one of her troopers; then continued. "Extract a grey long sleeve turtleneck leotard from your package. You will don this, and you may help your partner with the back seal. To close that, run your fingers up along it, like a zip-lock bag. It extends from your tailbone to the top of the collar; proper fit will have the sleeves extend to your wrists. You will once again circle your wrists, elbows and shoulders, and the join between the leotard and the leggings. This will give an air-tight seal." She turned and started back down the squad bay. "Circle at your hips and underneath the bust line, over top the band of the brassiere, and under the bust. This will activate the molecular armor for your lower chest and stomach to your hips, from the hips down it is activated to the pelvic joints. Please note that you will need to do a knee bend to pick up something from the floor from this point on." She inspected the troopers, "Next step; circle at the top of your collar. This will activate the armor from the bust to the top of the collar. Very good."

She saw her other two sergeants enter, and received their nods. "Now, you may be telling yourself that this is a lot to go through to wear duty armor. To an extent, you're right. However, this will become what you wear twenty-four seven under your other duty clothing. I have been wearing mine since completing my own training, and have found it extremely comfortable." She paced a bit, "You are wondering about cleaning yourself. This is galactic technology; personal waste is stored in microtanks, which are emptied when you take a cold shower. Please note I said cold, not hot. Each of your uniforms cost around seventeen thousand dollars, adding in the other items raises the price to just under twenty three thousand. The civilians do not have these uniforms; they have no need of them; the Imperial Navy has similar equipment for their personnel, however, their uniform leggings are white, ours are black."

"Please note Sergeant Sergetov," and the blonde Russian walked up and down the squad bay. "She is wearing the duty uniform, you will notice the knee boots. These are designed to allow a concealed knife in each boot. It is a simple wrap, closed with Velcro." The troops studied the black mini-dress, with the white hash marks for service length and the Sergeant's rank chevrons. On her right was a simple 'Sergetov' while her left had assorted medals and her 'salad bar'. It looked good over her blood-red turtleneck and black leggings. Gunny Sink continued, "This is the uniform you will wear day-to-day aboard ship. This is for port and boarding watches, security patrols, and so forth. You will have a shoulder arm and a handgun available with this uniform. Thank you," and Sergetov nodded and left, while Sgt. Fukumi entered. She wore a simple black overall over her red and blacks, and Gunny Sink said, "These are your utilities, when you need to get dirty. Note the ankle boots, which is your current issue, only bloused inside the boot. Thank you."

Sergetov re-entered, "This is your combat armor. The back half of the helmet is titanium, lined on the inside. You will note the 'snoopy cap' with the headset…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 18, 2002: 08:42 (GMT)  
Terran system, Mars orbit, Deimos:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Professor Young watched the monitors nervously. He didn't like working with antimatter, not at all. He had gulped nervously when the warhead had been shaken, and the small fiber optic camera inserted in the warhead had shown the small sphere had shifted in the magnetic fields. Still, it was stable now. He looked up as the hatch opened.

"Egg! How are things going?"

"On track, Donald," the professor replied, and once again silently cursed his parents. His name, Edward Foo, had been instantly converted to a nickname of 'Egg Foo Young'. Academia had been no different than the workplace. "The shaped charge generators?"

"Ready to go, and the shield generator is ready, too." This was a test of one of the light cruiser's salvaged hull panels, which were composed of a fairly normal twelve-millimeter steel plate, but penetrated by what people described as a 'dandelion'. This was a fuzzy aluminum disk, which ran through a hull fitting 'grommet' to a network of superconducting wire, which was in turn connected to a shield generator and then to a power source. They were using a compact nuclear reactor, as the solar constant in Mars orbit averaged seven hundred watts.

The compact antimatter warhead was about the size of a softball. The white sphere (which someone had painted red lines on) was encircled by magnetic field generators and plastic explosive to compress the shell into contact with the pea-sized bit of antimatter. Additional generators were positioned, it was hoped they would last long enough to contain and focus the blast into a 'shaped charge' against the hull plate and the shield.

"Boom minus ten seconds," Donald said, taking his seat. "High speed cameras and recording on. Four … three … two … one." On the screen, the firing chamber went white, then black as the cameras were destroyed, the steel roof cover bulged up, also as expected, and the camera behind the steel plate continued to operate. He zoomed in on the plate and the generator as Edward compiled data. "Wow, that thing's still going! A half-inch steel plate in contact and… wow!" he said again. "Preliminary data?"

"Some leakage from the shaped charge generators," Edward said. "About twelve percent more than expected." His eyes flicked over the computer screens. "Phenomenal run up in power, from about … fifteen kilowatts for normal operation, presumably for radiation, cosmic rays and so forth, to … seven megawatts in a thousandth of a second. Now back down to standby, fifteen kilowatts. No detectable radiation on the inside of the plate."

Donald was totally business like now. "Estimated effective yield of the warhead?"

"It's looking like twenty two kilotons effective," Edward replied. "Eighteen kiloton theoretical loss, it's a nice size boom from something the size of a pea."

"Damned if I know how Arrowhead makes 'em," Donald said. "Evaluation?"

"Preliminary for the moment," Edward said. "We could get the power run up with banks of supercapacitors. We don't know about stand-off weapons, this was a contact blast. The materials used, with the exception of those thread-like room temperature superconductors, is all stock. We know what the chemical composition of that is, manufacturing is the problem. We've taken the generator apart and put it together again, it works, so we didn't screw that up." He tapped a pen against his teeth, "We've proven we can take the thing apart and reassemble it successfully, I would say the next step would be to duplicate the test using Terran-manufactured parts and see what fails."

"And what those values are," Donald agreed. "Damn!" and he turned and high-fived Edward. "Yes!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 18, 2002: 10:44 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_M/V (A) Manhattan_**, Crew common room:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"May I join you?"

"Please do, Governor Sullivan," Jamie Burnet put aside his paperwork, standing courteously, as the blonde former slave took a seat. She set her coffee cup down, and sighed. "The view is totally wasted on them," she said, motioning to the two young couples. "They only have eyes for each other."

"Young love," he replied, and looked at her. "You don't have anyone…" he asked gently.

"I was considered lost at sea years ago," she said with a sigh. "Anyone I had has grieved and moved on. You?"

"I have a wife, two sons and two daughters," he replied. "They will be joining me on the next return ship, presumably the _Dover_. It is being refurbished in Windfall orbit, as you know, and will leave for Earth when we return with the new colonists. That should give me a month or so to do what I need in winding up my own affairs, get final approval on the coinage, set up links with Lantern Bank and so forth." He took a sip of his own tea, "I should have a very nice promotion, which will certainly assist my career plans." He looked at her over the rim of his cup, "I can, perhaps, introduce you to…"

"Long distance relationship," she said. "I actually liked… well, Herr Gruber, but I… well, I don't think it would work out."

"Ah, and Piotr's family will be coming out on the _Manhattan's_ return voyage," he said. "Should I keep an eye out for you? Matchmaking is something of a hobby among goblins, it comes from our low population growth."

"Now, that's something that I have a bit of trouble with. Not only magic but also the actual existence of… of beings and animals and whatnot that I thought only existed in fairy tales. Yet, I've seen Charlie, Mr. Adams doing it, and…" She took a sip of coffee to cover her embarrassment.

"Well, let me assist you," he said. "Bearing in mind that I will be coming at this from the perspective of not only a goblin, but a banker as well. The others might be better for another point of view." He took a sip of his tea, "I believe you said you were kidnapped in 1985? Let's see…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Where have you two lovebirds been the last day or so?" Charlie asked as Mattie and Arthur joined them.

"Well, he keeps wanting me to rest, so every time I'd get up, he'd conk me with this huge wrench," Mattie said, deadpan. "Then there was the kinky sex, you'd be surprised what he can do with an avocado…"

"Yeah, right," he replied. "Listen, there were some things I wanted to go over…"

"Like what we're going to eat when we get home?" Sprink asked playfully.

"You and your stomach," Charlie growled at her. "I don't know how you can eat like you do and not gain weight." He sighed, "No getting her off this. Who wants to lead off?"

"I guess I will," Arthur said. "I know Elena would go with a steak and a huge baked potato."

"Nothing to drink?" Mattie asked.

"Milk. She's always been addicted to milk, ice cold. I mean with chunks of ice floating in it."

"That's another couple miles to run off," she replied. "What about you?"

"Mom makes a big pan of lasagna and a Dam Jou cake just for me."

"That's what? Two zillion calories?"

"Totally worth it, but next time you visit, I've got to show you this Mexican place on Fifth. It's got a huge burrito as big as my head, with black beans, just a little rice and lots and lots of piggy with some corn salsa and sour cream. Even a little lettuce."

"You hate lettuce."

"Yes, but at this point, I miss it. Oh, and Pepsi. Gallons of Pepsi. What about you?"

"As long as we're pigging out," Mattie added; "The Iceberg has this really killer grill, they make the most kick-butt cheeseburger, the Croc Special. It's literally the size of a basketball. Sprink?"

"Nothing near as fancy as you lot. Fish and chips hot out of the fryer and some tea for me."

"They were putting breaded fish in the pubs in East and West Port when we left," Charlie said. "They hadn't figured the 'chips' bit, though. For me, shrimp cocktail for starters followed by a filet mignon wrapped in bacon plus a lobster tail."

"Just the tail?" Mattie asked incredulously. "If you're going lobster, go big."

"The whole ones make such a mess. Fresh vegetables, any kind and enough fresh fruit juice to float a barge." He sighed. "I'm starting to get hungry, so let's change the subject; Arthur, what did you want to discuss?"

"A couple of things, both about Windfall and the Empire."

"Shouldn't we get the other two in for this?" Sprink asked. She bounced up before anyone could say anything, returning a moment later with Christine and Mr. Burnet. Christine swiveled a chair around while Mr. Burnet settled himself neatly. "You had an idea, Mr. Morton?"

"A couple of things to discuss," he replied. "First, you know Ms. Castellano wanted to recover the costs associated with each girl, buying, shipping, training and so forth."

"Only good business, recover the costs on an asset," Mr. Burnet said.

"Except these aren't _assets_, they're _people_," Arthur replied. "When your son needs medical help, do you charge him for that? No. Now, training after they're free, with a dark collar, that's another thing."

"I think we can take a small charge for those costs," Mattie said. "Mark it up to … public relations or something. The figures I saw weren't that high per … well, I almost said 'per unit'." She waggled a finger in Arthur's face, "What are you doing to me? You're making this hardheaded businesswoman into a mushy type! Next thing you know, I'll be giving money to beggars and not wanting change!"

Sprink giggled, snorting into her hands, while Charlie chuckled, as did Mr. Burnet. "As long as the accounting is correct, we may be able to use it as a … (he cleared his throat) … charitable contribution. Madam Governor?"

Christine eyed Mattie, "What about those girls who had already paid against that debt?"

She eyed Arthur, "I think it's catching. Treat it as an … um, Certificate of Deposit, pay some interest; let them decide what to do with the funds. Part of their 'freedom training', handling their own money."

"They were already doing that to a limited extent, and that proved a shock to the new girls," Christine said. "Okay. I think that's agreeable, teach them about investing. What else?"

"This whole 'Empire' thing means we need to set up some ground rules regarding things like funding, the succession, the structure of the organization," he said, waving his hands. "I've put down my ideas regarding that. For instance, the British succession; if I remember right it's only Church of England, and the first born son takes precedence."

"Henry VII, if I remember my history," Charlie said.

"Two problems that I see. Sprink, you're a pureblood, you know about the various customs there."

"Right-o," she said, and gazed at him. "Diversifying the bloodlines," and nodded. "Like we do with muggles."

"Any reason we couldn't do it with some of these people?"

"If they're genetically compatible, and physically able to," Christine said. "Some of these WorkForce girls are either, well, duplicates, and born sterile, or they've been sterilized."

"Something the med-tanks could fix?" Mattie asked. "What about a potion?"

"Put that down as a 'maybe'," Arthur said. "I'd require that a member of the ruling dynasty …"

"Ooh, we're thinking dynasty already?" Mattie cooed.

"Wench," he replied. "Julie wrote me, they went to Diagon to pick up school supplies, including ours," he finger-waved. "That was with Prince Harry and Beatrice. Since there are long odds of her actually becoming Queen, she's basically going with the whole 'public service' tradition … anyway." He took a sip of tea to regain his thought. "What I was thinking is this," and he braced himself. "We need to both diversify the blood line, and demonstrate that the Empire is inclusive." The girls eyed him warily, and he took a breath, "I suggest that each male royal be allowed to have two wives, the first child of either wife would be in the succession…"

"You expect me to _share_ you?" Mattie asked coldly. "To allow you to … to … legally _cheat_ on me, with my blessing? And allow that … tramp's child into the succession? I'm not that open-minded. This was _not_ one of your better ideas, Morton." All three females fixed cold glares on him, and he opened his mouth, "Drop it, Morton," she said.

"Couch tonight," Charlie said, and the women's attention swiveled to him. "Me, too, I guess."

"I am going to the gym," Mattie announced. "Before I hit a certain MALE here, who is, indeed sleeping on the couch tonight, and for the foreseeable future."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Christine said, and Sprink nodded. "I'm there," and she looked at Charlie. "I'll leave a blanket out for you." The three turned and strode off, Mr. Burnet saying, "I am glad I am happily married."

"But it makes so much sense…" Arthur said.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 18, 2002: 11:26 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Surrey Square Shopping Centre:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Harry!" a large bloke called, standing up and waving. Harry waved back, telling Ginny, "There's Dudley."

"Why did I expect to see him in the food court?" she asked.

"Now, now. He's dropped several stone, what you see is muscle, and Donna's been good for him," he replied as they navigated the weekend shoppers, finally coming up to the table. Dudley had been a whale at Smeltings, his boarding school, but after meeting Donna Thomas (sister of Harry's housemate Dean), she had turned him around. Vernon, Dudley's father and Harry's uncle, on losing the opportunity to bully Harry had switched his sights to Dudley and Petunia, his wife. The both had moved out into much more modest quarters than Privet Drive, and after reconciling, Harry had provided financial support. Harry grasped his cousin's hand, "Dudders! How are you doing?"

"Almost finished with my degree," he replied, pleased. Dudley had hidden a talent for art, and was finishing up a college architecture degree, while Donna was supporting them as a bookkeeper, and played the guitar in a band as extra income. He leaned down, "And is this my favourite niece and nephew?"

"Sirius, Molly, you remember your Uncle Dudley, and this is his friend Donna."

"Hello…" the two toddlers mumbled. Dudley glanced at Harry, "They haven't yet started…" and he waved his hand in a circle.

"Still too young," Ginny replied. "Sometimes as early as four or five, or as late as eight. Did Dean ever…"

"Not me," Donna replied. "Dudley?"

He shook his head, "Mum, Petunia, didn't, so there's no reason I would."

"It skips around, Dudley," Ginny said. "Even if you don't, no reason your kids wouldn't." Ginny popped out her wand, quietly passing it over. "Give it a wave, quietly, see if there's any sparks." Ginny leaned over to watch; it produced a nice shower of sparks.

Donna looked at Harry, "What about your wand?"

He blushed, "It's a stick, I don't really need a wand," he admitted. "I'm working with Ginny on wandless and unspoken spells," and he sat back in the plastic chair. He continued quietly, "In a wizarding marriage, there's no such thing as divorce. Power levels tend to balance, as do lifetimes. I get a few extra years from Ginny, she gets power from me."

"One reason alcoholism is common in pureblood marriages," Ginny added. "They produce an heir, then the husband devotes himself to his business and takes up with mistresses, the wife goes to social function and drinks." She smiled, "I have a job, I'm Hogwart's 'House Mum', and I also work in my brother's joke shops."

"Who have given their words not to prank Molly and Sirius … where's Sirius?" Harry said. He looked around, when Dudley bolted to his feet, "There he is, with the bloke in the blue jacket!" He charged off, Harry right behind, shouting "Out of the way! Kidnapping!"

Bulling through the crowd, shoving people aside left and right, the kidnapper turned to look; then started running himself. A thin bloke with a scraggly blond beard, he had Sirius (who was working on a lollipop) gripped firmly to his hip. He started shoving people to either side himself, but Dudley was an onrushing heavy lorry, still calling, "Stop that bloke! Kidnapping!"

Harry called, "Dudley, break left!" and as he did, Harry said, "_Accio Sirius Potter_!" The kidnapper stumbled when Sirius was jerked out of his grip (complete with lollipop); which gave Dudley enough of a break for an extra burst of speed, and with a rugby tackle, took the kidnapper down.

An enraged Dudley slammed the kidnapper against a flat concrete pillar, holding him by his throat and snarling, "I'm going to rip off your balls and shove them down your throat; you sick bastard, then I'm going to tear off your arm and beat you to death with the wet end."

"_Incarcerous_," Harry said, and the kidnapper was bound to the concrete pillar with rope. "No, Dudders, Sirius is good, I've a better idea." He strode up to the bound kidnapper, holding up his left hand, he conjured a fireball. "You are not having a good day, are you? You've not only managed to piss off Dudders, but you grabbed a wizard's son." He held the fireball in front of his beard; the kidnapper could smell his own burning hair. "However, I'm not going to do a thing to you."

"You're not?" Dudley asked, outraged.

"Oh, no," and Harry stared at the kidnapper over the fireball, "He's going to confess everything he knows about, everything he's done to the coppers, and if he's lucky, he'll get a private cell."

Ginny finished her inspection of her son, then stood, looking up at the bound kidnapper, palming her wand and whispering '_Castratus Totalis_'. She then gave him a filthy look and stepped back as the police finally arrived.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 18, 2002: 12:05 (GMT-5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle, Morton kitchen:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Pass the OJ, please," Teela asked as she drained her glass. She folded the 'Style' section of the Sunday paper, leaning it against the leg of her chair. The last few drops dribbled into her glass, and she looked around the table, "Okay, who killed it?"

"You had the last bit," Bill replied with a smirk, toasting her with his almost-full glass; then hiding behind the comics. Maggie looked up from her section, "Only a few days until my family is home," she said.

"Except for Elena," Julie said.

"Except for Elena, but she will be on the next ship," Maggie agreed. "However, Arthur, Henry and William should be home the end of the week." She rose with her coffee cup, but Becky was already up and had the pot in her hand. "Mom?" and Maggie held out her cup.

"Thank you," and Maggie sighed, "Only a few weeks until my family disperses once again to the four winds."

"I don't think it would be all of us," Julie said. "Arthur, Bill and I will be at Hogwarts, and I'm kinda looking forward to third year."

"Braniac," Bill teased. "You're just looking forward to the Halloween ball. Think you can buy Mattie's dress? I hear she didn't wear it for hers."

"You're male, so I'll forgive you," Julie replied. "That dress is like, two years out of date! It would be…"

"… a social disaster," Teela added. "Want me to see what some of my classmates can come up with?"

"Thanks, but I'm not interested in showing up in a dress made of … of … recycled tires or soda cans," her sister replied, adding a smile to take the sting off. "Some of the 'artiste' types can design 'em, but they won't wear them." She stood to top off her own coffee, waiting while the pot finished gurgling.

"We are not made of money," her mom said. "If Mattie is willing to sell it, and it can be updated, I want you to consider it." She folded her section of the paper; "In addition, you and William will be taking the 'royalty' classes on Wednesday, second period. That means that you and Tomas will be taking tutoring in third year mathematics from Professor Vector, while you," she speared Bill with her gaze. "Will be joining them as one of your options."

He groaned, "You mean I've got Math two AND three? Bummer."

"You're smart, and it will pay off for you," Becky said, feeding a slice of bacon to Carson. "Stop whining."

"I'm not whining!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 18, 2002: 12:25 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cambridge, MIT Housing, Barbeque pit:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I can't believe you're graduating," Kat sniffled. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss your special sauce additive," Chantal smirked, and Mrs. Stewart's ears pricked up. "What special sauce additive?" she demanded.

"Gotcha!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 18, 2002: 18:28 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Athens International Airport, arrivals concourse:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Eleanor set down her bag for a minute, searching for… there one was, a public Internet terminal! Picking up her bag again, she made her way to it, wanting only to send a quick message home; then find a bed. Her connecting flight to Corfu (there was no floo, unfortunately, and she was too tired to apparate) didn't leave until tomorrow morning.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 19, 2002: 06:33 (GMT +3)  
Terra, Corfu Airport:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Ms. Branstone?"

Eleanor turned around, "Yes, I'm Eleanor Branstone," she replied.

"I'm Smith, Imperial Intelligence. May I see your passport, please?" She dug it out of her bag, he examined and returned it, commenting with a smile, "My name really is Smith, by the by." He claimed her other bag, "Names don't really matter, surprisingly, you can call yourself 'Ms. Smith' if you wish. You're not being trained in covert action, you won't be 'Jane Bond'." He walked with her toward the car park, "We'll show you how to set up and run a domestic network, but that's not your primary focus. No, all we really have time for is the paperwork side of the business before you ship out."

"There's no MI-5 on planet?"

"I didn't say that," Smith said with a smile. "We've a very good bloke from KGB, Second Directorate, but you don't report to him. You can learn from him, and support him by brewing various potions, but his wife and daughter will be on the same ship as you. She's a physician of some sort, I believe."

"So why am I going, then?"

He sighed and stopped walking, "The original wizard disobeyed orders from the ship's captain when they stopped at a planet, and tried to leave the ship to go walkabout. They stunned and bound him, and he'll be shipped back when the other passenger ship, the _Dover_, leaves Windfall."

"So whom do I report to, then?"

"On planet, the Governor or her Deputy. We'll expect you to file a report with us, but that's simply sending an email. I would expect you'd be working with the security and intelligence blokes; they've a truth serum they extract from the glands of a certain species of fish, as opposed to veritaserum or the Russian SP-17. Aside from that, making use of your Herbology, there's a variety of plants that came out with the original wizard, but the on-planet blokes haven't done more than water them."

"I see…" she mused, and stopped walking with him as they came to the cab rank. The first one already had the boot open, and Smith put her bags in while the driver held the door for her. Smith got in next to her, and said, "Imperial training base, please, and from there." The driver nodded, and the silver four-door taxi drove off.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, August 21, 2002: 10:39 (GMT +1)  
Terra, Paris, EADS design division:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

(There is a demand,) the vice-president said in French. (We can corner the market for sub-light commercial ships, taking cargo to and from the Belt. Furthermore, we can export them to the other star systems if they are planned correctly.)

(The British are saying there must be a commonality of design for the components,) one designer objected.

(Bah! Then it will be OUR design they will adhere to! Get to work!) he said as he left the room.

(Management…) one designer commented with a sigh. (Let's look at a smaller ship, a 'coastal' design. What would they need? Life support, of course, and the smaller Polish 'kanal' class ships are using a pebble-bed reactor.)

(We can use one of those as a backup,) a designer put in. (However, they have the new 'burn anything' design reactors that will take a mixture of fuels. Use that as a primary,) and he moved to a white board and started to sketch. (Crew of … what, a dozen or so?)

(There will be some passenger traffic,) someone else pointed out. (Like on a tanker, allow passenger space for, I don't know, six or so passengers. Container handling equipment.)

(Pressurized cargo space, and vacuum spaces,) a third put in. (Like on an ocean-going ship, some containers are refrigerated, while others are just a steel box. Don't forget to have a way to eject the reactors, and we'd need both grav and subspace drives.)

(Radios and navigation equipment, and lifeboats,) someone said. (Remember the Titanic!)

(Wasn't that on TV the other night? Still, it's a good point. What's the Guard's requirement for lifeboats?)

(Double maximum personnel load,) another replied. (I think it's so a ship can be evacuated even if some of the boats are damaged. What about other small craft, like the work pods?)

(Internal bays?) Someone asked. (What about…)

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, August 21, 2002: 10:35 (relative)  
Terran system, **_Ngthsestr_**, Flight deck:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Mistress, we're picking up a buoy," the shaven slave 94383 said from the helm.

"Let's hear it, then," Captain Yael Miller said. The girl flipped a switch, and they heard a young woman's voice in Trade:

"_Warning, do not deviate from marked flight path in system. Other areas are off limits, Arrowhead Investments, Ltd. will not be held liable for destruction and death of ship, crew and cargo. Warning, do not deviate from marked..." _

"Seems fairly clear," the Captain said. "Do not deviate."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"_Ngthsestr_, this is Titan control. Please proceed to Terran orbit, and check in with the L1 traffic control. They have specific instructions for you."

94383 (she would answer to 'Frax' but preferred her slave number) turned to look at her Captain, "Mistress?"

"Follow the directions, girl. You can think for yourself, you know."

"Yes, mistress," she replied, and touched the comm, "Will comply, Titan."

"I swear, I'm getting your head shrunken the first chance we get," Yael said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Biggin Hill, mistress?" 94383 asked.

"Why, do you know it?"

"Yes, mistress, it's a private airfield to the far south of London." The shaven-haired slave squirmed in her seat, "Please, mistress, may I be caged aboard ship?"

"You're from London, as I recall, so no, you will not. Nor will you bind yourself or do anything else that I don't approve." She gestured, "_You_ happen to be a slave, by your choice, aboard _my_ ship. Now land us where they say. _Slave_."

The thoroughly unhappy slave girl squirmed again, finally saying, "Yes, mistress."

Yael smiled, "I thought so. It's good to be the Captain."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The ship settled, grounding with a thump, rocking a second on his undercarriage. A moment later, the Captain entered the common area, and C'ari looked up from her padd as she cleared her throat. "Welcome to Earth. T'ara, may I see you outside for a moment? The rest of you, please stay here." The dark-haired girl got up, following her Captain outside as the slave Frax entered from the flight deck, carrying the ship's remote and a data padd. She did not look happy, and C'ari asked, "Are you not pleased to finally, once again be on your homeworld?"

"No, mistress," the girl said, sinking into a chair and putting her items on the table. "Anywhere but here. My father lives here."

"That is excellent, then," A'nore said. "You can visit…"

Frax shook her head, "He thinks I'm dead, and even when I 'lived' (she made a hand gesture), we didn't get along. He wanted me to be a perfect clone of my mother." She sighed, "Anywhere else I can hide, I don't have to worry about meeting him…"

"You are being foolish," B'tan declared. "Is it because of your collar, your implants?"

"That is an excuse," T'ara said from the hatchway. "She does not wish to confront her father, she feels guilt, and being slave allows her to be separated without feeling guilt." Frax turned and stared at her, "The life of a free-trader allows one to determine motivation from body language. Am I right?"

"Remind me not to play cards with you," Yael said. "We're going to get transport into the city, so you can see some of the sights. Non-slave civilian clothes, we've got quarters arranged outside the city; someplace called 'Wiltshire'."

Frax made a small noise, and Yael raised an eyebrow. "That's outside the city, Mistress, at least a few hours away. Isn't there someplace closer?"

"I will ask," she replied.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, August 22, 2002: 11:50 (GMT)  
In convoy, **_M/V (A) Manhattan_**, Crew common room:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I don't know what I can do," Arthur said. "I mean, it's such a good, logical idea, but she's still mad at me."

"Logic does not always matter in dealings of the heart," Mr. Burnet advised. "You insulted not only her and her relationship with you as inadequate…"

"Not only that, you denied her _children_, Mr. Morton," Christine said. "Having four sisters, I would have thought you realized the deep emotional bond there. I can't have children, and hopefully a med-tank will be able to fix that. If it can't, I'll adopt, and…"

"Mate, you've seen stories of mothers lifting autos and running into burning buildings to save their tykes," Charlie said. "This was a major cock-up on your part, and it's beyond the 'flowers and candy' apologies, it's…"

"It's at the groveling stage," Sprink said. "Loud and long. She'll be here shortly. That's my advice."

"I mean, she's still so cold…"

"And with good reason," Mattie said, and Arthur turned. She crossed her arms and glared at him, "Well, Mr. Morton?"

The other four moved away, and he gestured to a seat. She continued to stand and glare at him, and he scrubbed his face. "I screwed up."

"You certainly did."

"Okay. I admit that, I … well; I won't offer excuses. I insulted you, and our kids…"

"Should we have any," she snapped. "Go on."

"Okay, I fucked up in a major way, and there's no excuse for it." He took a deep breath, "I'm sorry."

She continued to eye him, then nodded briefly, and took a seat across from him. She was still rigid with anger, but she was at least sitting with him. "The original idea was to diversify the bloodline. I'm sure you've had the chance to come up with an alternate plan by now."

"Um, yes. Adoption, make it much easier, and any kids going into the, um, our house would have the full rights as … um, their natural-born brothers and sisters."

She regarded him in silence; then asked, "In what order of succession?"

"I would go by age, standard calendar. If we have A, C, and E, and adopt B, then that would push C down. From what Charlie says, that's how the royals, the Brits do it now." He took a breath, "Aside from that, I would require marriage outside the line, you don't marry your brother, after all."

"My brothers are adopted, but I understand what you're saying," she agreed, unbending slightly. "If A has two kids, and we adopt B, who has one, then the succession would go A1, A2, B1 if I understand you."

"And then to C and so forth," he agreed. "We want to be able to show it's not just a 'humans only' Empire."

"More like the Federation," she mused. "Okay, you're on the way to being forgiven," and he exhaled. She turned and waved the others over, "Arthur buys us lunch, and we won't mention this little incident to his sisters."

"But the meals don't…" and Sprink slapped his arm, "Shut your bloody gob, mate, and buy her lunch."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Mattie took a bite of her sandwich, and listened as Charlie said, "We ought to trade news from home. I'll start. My pa wrote me that there's been a lot of interest in mining the Belt, especially with these new reactors. There was a special on the Beeb about the place on the Moon where the old high-level waste goes. Because this design will burn just about anything, they've installed automated equipment to take apart the old fuel rods and machine new ones for them and the pebble-beds. They're scaling the reactors from five megawatts for satellites to a thousand for larger places, and the Solar Guard has a couple ships that do nothing but place and inspect those reactors."

"My family has a big party laid on for after I get home," Christine said. "I'm not really looking forward to it, but family…" and she shrugged. "We've got that wrecked floatplane in the hold, and someone negotiated to trade it for an airplane. I'm getting trained on something called an 'Otter', and the Russians are donating a larger plane, an AN-26 which the Australians are converting into a flying doctor and cargo rig. Aside from that, we'll have a couple of containers of parts and some people are going out to service and maintain them."

"You will also need to visit Geneva, to set up accounts and so forth," Mr. Burnet added. "Come, you can stay with us, see the sights, perhaps meet a nice fellow…" he waggled his eyebrows.

"I'm actually the tiniest bit jealous of you, Christine," Mattie said. "It must be exciting to be so hands-on in colonizing a new planet…"

"I'm a little surprised to hear you say that," Arthur said. "Here we're building an empire…"

"I know, like I said, it's more hands-on," she replied. "There are times when I get so tired of politicking. Maybe when you give me some kids…"

"Are you taking after Mrs. Weasley?" Sprink asked in mock horror. "Th' school rumor mill has it that P'fessor Harry and Ginny are tryin' for some more, an' you know the Twins got hitched. Did Ginny infect you with th' Weasley multiple-birth bug?"

"No, it's the Morton bug," Arthur said. "Got to get up to Cassidy somehow," and Sprink and Charlie both coughed into their tea. "I was looking at that photo the other day, and I noticed how much she resembled Elena, and since we know she's descended from Mattie, well, two plus two." He took a sip of his blackberry tea, "She seems to have your nose, too, Sprink, so Charlie, when are you going to make it official?"

"Bloody hell, you stole my thunder," he complained; then turned to Sprink. "Act surprised on Halloween, I've my mum's rings for you."

She leaned over to kiss him. "I know nothing!" She then turned to Arthur, "I want to see this photo again."

"It's in the cabin," he replied. "How's Greywolf doing?"

"Well, y'know we kipped a deal with DHL," she said. "We handle 'tween planets and express, they handle on-planet as well as local post. We're going together with a general mail and cargo station in orbit for each planet."

"Makes sense," Mattie said, and flicked a glance at Charlie. "Your people design it?"

"For Windfall, just modifications of the existing station; putting in customs stations, transit warehouses and the like. The new-builds are ore processing, one for each Belt. The neat feature is the ore carriers; we put a grav-plate on the end of an ordinary cargo container to get about a tenth-gee. That's more than most asteroids have, so the automated miner just grinds up the rock and it simply falls into the container."

"That's … brilliant in its simplicity," Mattie said. "There's thousands, millions of empty steel containers around the world, we don't have to pay to have empty ones shipped back to Earth, when the container is full, they simply reverse the polarity of the grav field to empty it. Brilliant, Charlie."

"Actually, there's a simpler solution," Charlie said. "Turn off the container's grav plate, turn on the one in the station's intake hopper, the material falls out. That's cheaper than a reversible plate."

"What holds the mining bot up in the shaft?" Sprink asked.

"The bot cuts little steps into the shaft with lasers, and it has claws that fit into those steps," Charlie replied. "There's a few minutes where they change out the container, but it works well. That's why we had you bring back those big ore processors, one for each of Windfall's Belts and one for the Terran Belt as well. They just need to be installed in a station."

"And then the processed ore is stored and used at L4," Arthur said, nodding approvingly. "You produce whatever grades of steel or whatever you need. What about things like fabrics and food?"

"Food and fabrics can be shipped up," Charlie said. "There's enough grown on a station to clean the air and water, and serve as an emergency food source. Fruit and veg, but things like meat and teas take too much room to grow on a station."

"There's still that gravity penalty, even with antigrav shuttles," Mattie commented.

"I know, teas and beef will be more expensive than chicken or goat's milk," he replied. "Speaking of fabrics, one of my people came up with a possible use for those bloody Wabbits," Charlie said. "I don't know if the meat's edible, but you might skin them and use them for leather, like gloves, saddles, that kind of thing; but tanning leather stinks. You'd want to do it downwind."

"Those things aren't that big," Arthur objected mildly. "You'd have to test to see if the poison stays in the leather. Gloves aren't worth someone's life."

"True, but it would be nice to get some use out of them," Charlie replied. "Better than throwing them in a rubbish skip." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Big bloody job, this."

"And we've got to get as much right as we can," Arthur said. "A mistake can cost lives, or if we miss something…"

"Which we will," Mattie said. "You're right, but all we can do is the best we can do." She sighed, "One thing that worries me is paying for it. If I'm defending the planet, what's to keep someone from getting a free ride? I can't let them bomb Beijing or Paris and defend Berlin and Moscow because they paid their bill."

There were several grunts. "Properly," Charlie said, "There would be some form of world government, but that won't go. Even something like the UN, they're cocked up, but it's the closest we have. Some sort of coalition like NATO?"

"And how do we handle something like the Red Chinese?" Mattie asked. "Last I heard, they were attaching the conditions that we transfer all the Taiwan contracts to them." She shook her head, "No, that comes across as too much of a playground bully beating up on the little kid and stealing his lunch for me. The problem is that after World War Two, Roosevelt…"

"Truman. Roosevelt was dead," Arthur corrected.

"Right. Thanks. The point is that they caved in to Mao, and ever since, the Politburo has had the attitude that they're better, they're condescending to us." She shrugged, "At least that's how they've come across when I've met them, and their public statements calling for the transfer of contracts from their 'breakaway province'… No. I'm not going to be part of that. I'm not going to hold that little kid so the big bully can beat on him, and I don't care if Beijing doesn't like it."

"It is not just you," Mr. Burnet said. "Their bankers are the same way. They will generously allow us to do business with them, but on their terms only. There is no give to them, no negotiation." He sipped his tea, "The strange thing is, they don't seem to realize how irritating that is, the 'fact' of their superiority. Not even the Japanese were that arrogant in World War Two, they realized there were two sides to a coin." He shrugged, "We'll figure something out."

"I hope so," Mattie said. "Today I need to work on my report to Arrowhead's board. Uncle Clark also wanted me back on his news show. Sprink, how are your reports going?"

"They need work," she admitted reluctantly. "I get distracted and lose what I was thinking."

"Well, Charlie and I will leave you two alone today;" Arthur said. "Although I actually had an idea last night I wanted to bounce off people. While I was finance minister, which I was _not_ trained for …"

"Sorry," Mattie said.

He gave her a tentative smile, "Anyway, part of the job was figuring out how to grow the economy, while not becoming a dumping ground for political prisoners and criminals."

"Like Australia started out as," Christine said. "Go on, it's something I've been concerned with."

"What I'm thinking of is something like a mortgage or a line of credit, called 'Colony Credits'." (He finger-quoted.) "That would allow someone to buy what they need to set themselves up in business, whether it's equipment or transport, a ship, or supplies."

"Interesting…" Mr. Burnet said, rubbing his chin, while Christine stacked her fists on the back of the chair, resting her chin on them as she thought. "Who would assume the risk?" she asked.

"Aside from the people themselves, I was thinking the risk could be split between the Empire, Gringotts and the receiving colony themselves," Arthur replied. "A person or a family could apply though a web page, and the scoring could shift dependant on the demand for that person's skills. For instance, if a colony needed, oh, dentists or some other particular skill, those persons would score higher."

"A criminal wouldn't necessarily have a good credit score…" Mattie mused. "However, one of the main selling points of a colony is a second chance. I would ask about convictions, and if that dentist had any, if they were over … fifteen years ago, I would let that go. The information would be available to colony law enforcement, but not the average bloke, giving that dentist a fresh start."

She thought; "I would arrange it as a line of credit, to give that person or that family a financial reserve. They could set up a normal business bank account for buying and selling, and if Gringotts issued the Credits, they would probably set up the routine business account with them. However, we don't want to be giving out monopolies, competition is good."

"Indeed it is, and as Gringotts has an existing relationship, that gives us a small advantage," Mr. Burnet replied. "However, putting on my Finance Minister's hat, I am afraid of deficit spending by a colony and the Empire. We currently have a combination of representative and commodity currency, as represented by the tungsten gram…"

"Wait a sec'," Sprink said. "What do you mean there?"

"A galleon is a commodity currency," the banker replied. "It is made of gold, you can hold it in your hand. This is similar to the lower denomination Galactic coins, which contain various amounts of tungsten. By the by, Mr. Morton, I'm glad you've been studying with Miss Wayne." Sprink raised her eyebrow, and he added, "Taking advantage of the commodity price differences. He converted tungsten for gold."

"Bugger," Charlie said. "I should have thought of that."

Mr. Burnet continued, "Where the commodity currency system breaks down is in larger amounts. If you needed to pay Ms. Wayne ten thousand galleons, you would need to travel with a chest of galleons in order to do so. With the introduction of representative currencies, you simply write a cheque to her and the bank does the transfer, updating the various ledgers. Lantern bank does something similar, using an encrypted chip instead of a paper cheque, and Gringotts, as a planetary licensee, will also do this, as well as electronic transfers." He took a sip of his own tea, "That cheque is a representative currency, it stands for that ten thousand galleons, whereas a fiat currency, on the other hand, is valid only because a government says it is, like the American dollar or the British sterling." He shuddered, "Thank you, no. The Empire will be on a much stronger financial basis."

"Why do you say that?" Christine asked.

"A fiat currency is backed only by the government that issues it, and it can produce as much of it as it likes. It is essentially an 'IOU', allowing a host of problems including inflation and a 'boom and bust' economic cycle, which prolong wars and (he shuddered) deficit spending." He took a calming sip of tea. "No, I would issue government bonds, or for Windfall, municipal bonds, and allow the local sites to declare themselves town or village governments. That will allow them to self-finance themselves through taxation and their own issuance of bonds."

"That seems like quite a lot of public debt," Arthur said.

"It is fairly risk-free," the banker replied. "For instance, let's look at a government bond. We shall say that Windfall wishes to lay fiber-optic cable between sites. They would issue specifications, advertise for bids, receive quotations, and so forth. Let us say the winning bid was fifty million, however Windfall cannot, or does not, wish to pay that amount of cash up front."

"The project dies, then," Sprink said.

"Not at all," Mr. Burnet said. "A government has the power to tax, which is why a government bond is so safe. Gringotts issues a line of credit for fifty million to Windfall, who turns around and signs the contract for the work. Windfall issues a bond for fifty million, and to pay it back they implement a tax, which then goes to pay back the bond. Windfall improves their credit score; the investor accepts a lower interest rate for increased security, and Gringotts, as the issuer of the bond not only improves their relationship with Windfall, but also has a long-term income stream for the life of the bond, which might be twenty years. The major risk is that the government falls, which is unlikely."

"So how would you finance a warship?" Mattie asked. "Those are expensive as well."

"Pride of place," Charlie said slowly. "A cruiser, like the _Wisdom_, you would tender bids from shipbuilders, and a shire would agree to cover that bond with a tax to build it. You'd have suitable ceremonies and whatnot for launching it."

"You still have to maintain it," Mattie said. "What's the revenue stream for that?"

"Probably general taxation," Christine said. "As System Governor, I'm responsible for defense and emergency services, they could supply at a general cargo platform, and just restrict access to things like missiles."

"That might work," Mattie said, and leaned back in her chair, regarding Mr. Burnet. "How would we work Arthur's Colony Credits?"

"That would be a different matter," he replied. He took a sip of his own tea as he thought. "I would suggest issuing a bond to, in this case, Windfall. They would issue a guarantee for the line of credit, which the borrower would pay back, and Windfall could foreclose on as needed. Similar to a mortgage." Mr. Burnet took another sip of tea, "With transport so inexpensive, the flight risk is higher for FTL ships, which is why they are cash items, while orbital and sub-light ships are mortgaged."

"That mortgage leaves me, as Windfall, in debt," Christine said, sipping her coffee.

"Not really," Mattie said. "You have a binary star system's worth of property that you can issue title to. If someone defaults, you seize the property and auction it off, like repossessing a car. As the property would have a known value, that gives you a financial basis, and we're not even looking at imports and exports." She gestured, "For instance, you can build the modules for Frostbite Falls' orbital industry and ship them as an export…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Friday, August 23, 2002: 21:21 (GMT)  
Terran system, **_Olentangy_**, flight deck:****  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Copy, L4 approach, we are receiving your signal. Switching to remote control for docking," and Bill Morton nodded at Mike, who flipped switches and nodded. "L4 has control," he confirmed. They waited as the platform grew larger overhead, both Bill and Mike sneaking photos. Work pods like their own approached, they heard clanks and bangs, and a speaker announced, "_Olentangy_, we have you secured. Wait for the access tube, do you want transient quarters?"

"Oh, yeah," Mike said quietly, and Bill touched his headset, "That would be appreciated, L4. We can bunk with you, then catch a shuttle home."

"Copy, _Olentangy_. Let me talk with your cargo master."

"I'll switch you to Misty, she should have everything you need. Thank you, approach, _Olentangy_ out." The comm light on Bill's console went out; he ripped the headset off where it started to drift at the end of its cord as he threw his arms out. "We're home!"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

*ring* *ring*

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom?"

"Mike! Tell me where you are!"

"We just docked at L4, Mom, not five minutes ago. We're going to bunk at L4's transient housing overnight, then catch a shuttle home. I'll call you again from; I guess GEO station when I know the scheduling. I should see you within a day or so."

"You're safe, you're all right?"

"I'm great, Mom, I've got lots of photos, and we're going to have lots of money once Misty offloads our cargo." She could hear him exhale, "Oh, man, what a trip! Listen, I got to finish packing up, I'm going to be bunking with Mr. Morton tonight. He's on the phone with his family, everybody's fine, and I'll see you soon. Love ya!"

"Love you too, baby. Bye!"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 24, 2002: 13:35 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, GEO orbital docks, approach:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You know, I still owe you some beach time," Arthur said, and Mattie grinned. "Ah, the beautiful hydrocarbon beaches of Titan," she said, and giggled. "Gawd, I hate it when I giggle. I sound like I'm six."

"Yeah," he replied. "It's going to be strange going back to being a student again."

"Fifth year, OWLs and the GCSE exams. Joy and happiness," she said. "We have interesting vacations, though."

"That we do," he agreed, ruffling her hair.

"I think we done good," she said, reaching up to mess up his in turn.

He watched the docks, unconsciously finger-combing his hair as he studied the design of the dock they approached. It had the form of a quarter-octet, with another being built 'behind' it. The ship was edging toward the spidery black form, silver docking arms and connecting passageways already starting to extend. On the other side of the framework, a silver aluminum structure extended out to form several decks for transient housing, cargo and dockside services. He could see approaching shuttles connecting to the widest 'top' deck, while heavier cargo shuttles docked at the 'lower' decks.

"You got that gold ready?" she asked, giving him a start out of watching the intricate dance of ship, shuttles, and dock.

"Yes," he replied. "Mr. Burnet said that Gringotts has a branch on each dock, I'll just deposit it there and let them transport it. That way I can duck the taxes."

"And you don't have to schlep a few hundred kilos of gold around," she agreed. The ship was on final maneuvers; from the port they could see the black steel of the dock, seemingly only meters away. There was a series of 'clangs', and the speakers came on. "Welcome to Terra's GEO Port One. Please bring your hand-baggage with you to our 'B' deck transit lounge, and have your passports available for Terran Customs. Shuttles to Africa will depart from the Port's 'A' Deck, Terminal One. Shuttles to Asia and the Pacific from 'A' Deck, Terminal Two. Shuttles to Europe and the Mediterranean from 'A' Deck, Terminal Three. Shuttles to North America depart from 'A' Deck, Terminal Four. Shuttles to Central and South America…"

"They're calling us. What about your plants for Snape?"

"Sprink's taking care of them for me." She checked the straps on her luggage cart, did a final look to check if she'd missed anything; then said, "Let's go home."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 25, 2002: 10:30 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Stephenville, Newfoundland, 2329 Maryland Drive:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

*ring* *ring*

"Hello?" the old woman answered, and then shrieked, "CHRISTINE! YOU'RE ALIVE! Oh, my baby, where are you?" Her husband got up from the couch, walking over to stand behind her as she said, "Of course, dear! Yes, here's your father..." She handed over the phone, "Oh, this house is a mess! I need to clean..."

"Christine? Yes, your mother is babbling something about cleaning; she's got a dust rag in her hand. Of course, I'm looking forward to it. Don't be silly; of course we'll pick you up at the airport, you don't have to worry about a cab. Yes, two hours should be fine. Love you." He hung up and resumed his place on the couch and the hockey game, and his wife looked at him as if he were insane. "Christine will be here in two hours, and look at this place! It's filthy! What will they think? I..."

With a grunt, he got up again, walking over to her and holding her by the shoulders. "Your daughter won't care if it's covered in mud, it's HOME. Don't worry about it, just be glad she's alive, and we'll pick her up in two hours. "

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Christine sat in the back of the family car as it turned on to Maryland drive. She saw the houses decorated with the Maple Leaf flag of Canada, and her father said, "Welcome home, dear. We've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, Daddy," she said, and sniffled away a tear.

"Now, we're going to let you rest, I've done up your room, and we'll have a welcome home party tomorrow with the neighbors," her Momma said. "Once they heard you were alive, and now, a Governor, yet!"

"Momma… I just want to be with you two for now…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 25, 2002: 11:04 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Port Columbus International Airport:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The silver shuttle settled gently on the helicopter ramp, and the hatch folded open. A blond teenager came down, bags strapped to a silver cart behind him. He gave a wave to a dark haired girl, calling, "See you in London on Wednesday!", then stepped away as the shuttle lifted off. Turning, he headed for the door marked 'Customs'.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Sunday, August 25, 2002: 11:41 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Metropolis International Airport:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Good morning," Mattie told the Customs man, offering her passport.

He looked behind her, "I don't see a flight, where'd you come from?"

"Shuttle from the orbital docks," she replied, and yawned. "I'm sorry, I'm like a year behind on my sleep. Nothing to declare... no, I'm sorry. I've got some offworld fruit juice, a case of that."

The customs man grunted, and pointed at the counter. "Luggage, please. Open it up for inspection." She did so; he looked in the case of juice, resealed it with US Customs tape, and then went through her suitcase and duffel bag. Stamping her passport, he asked, "Where did you go?"

"Eridani Three; then a couple of other ports, and we're setting up to colonize a planet," she replied. She motioned at the suitcase, "Am I okay, and what's been happening here?"

"You're good," he said, closing the suitcase. As she zipped it closed, he added, "Let's see. Congress voted to impeach Luthor, but the Senate's still arguing about when to do the trial. They ratified the Arrowhead bill, seventy-two to twenty or so."

"Great!" she said, then yawned again. "Sorry. Look, now that that's happened, we're going to be looking for people to colonize. We've got a couple planets we need to get up and running. One's Windfall, I'll be on Kent's Crossfire program talking about that. The other's a trade port on a planet in the M7 cluster. That's P'wheel; they'll be a little more up to date. We'll still need farms there, but like I said, it's a trade port."

"I do woodworking as a hobby," he told her, half-sitting on the counter. "My wife does needlework, samplers, that kind of thing. What do you think?"

"If you two could do production quality work, furniture and that kind of thing, and you don't mind taking in apprentices, rescued slaves, we could probably do something. Think like the Amish, only with electricity, modern lights, tools, that kind of thing." She groped in her purse, and then pulled out a business card. "Keep an eye on Arrowhead's web site, it will have more information. Thanks, and good luck."

"You too, and thanks."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Outside the airport, Mattie told a helpful skycap and a cabbie, "My aunt's picking me up, thanks." She glanced at a copy of the _Daily Planet_ that she had bought, looking up when a horn beeped. Folding the paper, she stuck it under her arm as a large dog jumped out, and the trunk opened. "Crystal!" she yelled, giving the wolf a hug. "I missed you, ya fleabag. You all better now?"

"She's been riding with me," a very pregnant Lois said, maneuvering out from behind the wheel. The cabbie grabbed one of Mattie's bags, the skycap the other, putting them in the trunk with the case of juice. "Thanks, guys," Mattie said, passing them each a bill. "Get some coffee on me, would you?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, they spring you, or did you escape?" Mattie asked Crystal.

The werewolf transformed, hiding in the back seat. "I'm not out, officially. I felt fine beginning of the month, I was all healed up, but they wanted to keep me for 'observation', and they hid my clothes. When your Auntie came by, I begged her to help me escape, I knew you'd have to be back soon, you need to get your kit for Hogwarts."

"So, how was your trip?" Lois asked from the front seat.

"Off the record," and her aunt cursed, "Damn it. Okay."

"We now have three other planets, making a total of twenty one in our fledgling little Empire, and an alliance with another species. You know about the light cruiser we sent back?"

Lois nodded as she drove. "Luthor resigned as President, declining Secret Service protection, and vanished. Pete Ross is now President, he wants to meet with you, and..." she paused and winced, "Ow. Contraction. I want this kid out, but she doesn't want to come."

"And she's going to laugh at merely human drugs. Got a name picked out?"

"Clark and I agreed, female goes to Lane, male goes to Kent. I'm leaning toward Lana; after all, Lana did name her son Clark." She looked in the mirror as Mattie stifled a yawn. "Exploiting the population is serious business, kiddo. How's your sleep?"

"Short, as usual. I've been running on coffee and tea, and man, does Windfall have some strong teas. They'll make even someone as laid back as Crystal hyper."

"Well, you are going to go crash. Lana is getting off early and will be coming by with some things for Crystal to wear other than my borrowed clothes, I told her to think 'Stodgy British schoolmarm'."

"You didn't!" Crystal exclaimed, and Lois smirked.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

Lana peeked in the bedroom from behind Lois, and saw Mattie Wayne sound asleep, wearing a ratty old XXL Gotham Knights jersey. Clutched tightly was a large grey wolf. "Crystal?" Lois whispered, "Can you get out?" Slowly, the wolf tried to ease out, but Mattie gave a small whimper and clutched her more tightly. The wolf shook her head, and Lana said, "We'll set up out here for you."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Hello there, sleepy," Lana teased, and Mattie yawned, then said, "Sorry."

"Building an interstellar empire is serious work," Lois said from the kitchen. She poured a glass of ice water for her niece to match her own, while Lana drank coffee and Crystal sipped tea. "Rehydrate yourself, sit, and we can talk. Clark's running late, I've called Selina, and this is off the record."

"'Kay," she replied, taking a seat and taking a few gulps of her water, then sipping it. "Aunt Lana, you're still with WGBS?" The redheaded anchor nodded. "I've got some un-edited video of four different planets." She counted off on her fingers, "Let's see, that would be Windfall, P'wheel, Frostbite Falls, and the Wookie planet. Oh, and port visits on, let's see, Eridani III, Tosul and Mangione, and I've got a bunch of photos I took. Now, we've got a shared copyright with all this between Arrowhead and Greywolf Transport, but we really need this professionally edited." She sat back and sipped her glass of water, "Now, I can go to the Beeb for editing, but these really should be available to the public as a more open license…"

"Damn your soul, Wayne," Lana groused. She shoved her coffee cup aside, accepting the legal pad Lois handed her.

"You should see her when she's not half-asleep," Crystal commented, and Lana growled.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Honey, I'm home!" Clark called, gently kicking the door shut. "Hello, Lana," he added.

"Kent, I swear, I'm going to drive a stake in your demon spawn niece's heart," Lana said, and Clark blinked.

"Lana's been negotiating with Mattie on a license and terms for off-planet video," his wife said brightly. "I think she was a little … unprepared." Lana growled again.

"Oh," he said, then held up the plastic-wrapped package. "I brought steaks…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 26, 2002: 09:59:57 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Metropolis, GNN studios:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Y'know, I still haven't gotten a mug from the LA Times," a grinning Mattie told the reporter. "See if I darken the doorway of _your_ little town now!"

"I had them send one to London," Ms. Arroz protested. "People!" Mr. Kent said, and the director said, "We're live in five, four, three..." and then the red light went on.

"Hello and welcome to Crossfire, I'm Clark Kent in Metropolis." He turned to face the main camera, adding, "With me in the studio today as panelists are reporters from the _Chicago Tribune_, _Detroit Free Press_, _Los Angeles Times_, _New York Times_, and Metropolis' own _Daily Planet_."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 26, 2002: 10:01:40 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Stephenville, Newfoundland, 2329 Maryland Drive:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Someone whistled, and the conversation died as Christine said, "It's starting! We missed part of it." People took seats, and popcorn passed around. Someone said, "God, she's preggers," as the volume went up, and they heard Kent say, "As our single guest for today's special two-hour broadcast, we have Ms. Mattie Wayne of Arrowhead Investments, Ltd."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You know Wayne, Christine?" a neighbor asked her.

"Met her several times, she's down to earth," she replied as Kent said, "… co-sponsored by Public Broadcasting and the Wayne Foundation, this is live." He turned slightly, "Ms. Elizabeth Koslowski of the _New York Times_, you've drawn the first question."

"Yank paper," someone commented.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Thank you, Mr. Kent. Ms. Wayne, I understand there have been some radical changes to our relations with other planets."

"That's a polite way to phrase it," Ms. Wayne replied, taking a sip of coffee to collect her thoughts. "We started with a Terran Trade Federation, but we seem to be transitioning toward a constitutional empire. There are several planets, right now we're looking at twenty of them, with one or two allied planets, which have fairly small populations and no real defenses. They are essentially mice, waiting for a cat to wake up and eat them."

"So how are we a different kind of cat?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 26, 2002: 10:03:48 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"… a different kind of cat?"

Ms. Wayne smiled, "Well, we're not looking to dominate and exploit them for our exclusive benefit. If we help to grow their economy, it helps everyone out. It's not all metals and constructed items, either. For instance, one planet has a plant extract that seems to work well against cancers, and Windfall, the planet we discussed a few months ago, has some really excellent teas." She leaned forward, taking a sip from her water glass, "As such, we're looking to build and install not only colonies on those planets, but orbital works, extraction facilities, smelters, building slips..." she waved a hand, "Terra will build ships, warships, which we will station in those systems, and use along the convoy routes to protect our people."

"That's worth billions of dollars," Larry Ullage of the _Detroit Free Press_ said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Nice guy," Arthur said. "His kid is cute, too."

"Thinking of the future?" Julie asked, and Bill threw a pillow at her as Arthur thought of Cassidy Yates, his future great-granddaughter. "Yeah," he replied.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Trillions," Ms. Wayne corrected quietly. "It certainly gives the economies of the Arrowhead coalition a nice little shot in the arm. Think of the Liberty ships, and auto production. We're already sitting down with the production experts from companies like Tanaka Heavy Industries, and see how our planned orbital works can be designed for maximum efficiency."

"Have you heard from the Chinese?" Charles Rivers of the _Chicago Tribune_ asked.

"I've only been back on Earth a day," she replied. "I haven't had the chance to return to London, so there may have been changes that I don't know of. With that said, as far as I know, the people in Beijing are still attaching a condition that we drop all trade with Taiwan in their favor." She shook her head. "Sorry, no. I shook hands; I gave my word to the people of the Republic of China, I will keep it. They have lived up to our contracts; I will keep our word to them. Beijing may not intend this, but they are coming across as an arrogant bully that is reluctantly allowing us to solicit their business, under their rules. This reminds me too much of the big kid beating up the little kid and stealing their lunch. I will not be a part of that, if they want to attach conditions, I can play that game too. However, I gave my word to the Republic of China, I intend to keep it. I can't be any plainer than that."

"I can see the diplomatic fur fly now," a visibly pregnant Lois Lane of the _Daily Planet_ said.

"There's no reason for any fur to fly. They want to play the game entirely by their rules, on their board, and as I said, I can attach conditions too."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Larry Ullage said. "What conditions?"

"The same ones US and European industry play by. Level the game board. The same environmental and industrial rules and regulations that we use; the Chinese ignore." She turned, "In Detroit, or Stuttgart, or Paris, or any city in the US or Europe, people aren't afraid to drink the water from their kitchen tap. They don't have to wear filter masks to breathe because of the air pollution there, they don't have to work twelve or fifteen hours a day for pennies, and those pennies are why those jobs are off-shored. Those factories not only are government owned and price-supported, but their costs are low because they don't have to bother with those expensive regulations. When a business looks at production costs, especially with favorable tax laws _to_ offshore those jobs, they don't really have a choice if they're going to compete."

She turned in her chair, "I'm not a diplomat; I'm a businesswoman. I'm doing heavy industry in orbit, mining, shipbuilding, construction, all of which are expensive, polluting and dangerous." She held up fingers, "My expenses for materials and energy are so low they're essentially free, by designing my extraction processes I can recover a high percentage of material, and even the slag has a use for shielding. Pollutants can be captured and recycled, and by using remote controls and industrial robots, while my initial costs are higher, those are offset by longer equipment service life, increased worker safety, which also translates into higher wages and better labor relations." She took a sip of her ice water, "While my employees may not have five-star quarters, they're certainly comfortable, the air, food and water is fresh, they are essentially living in small towns, and they ride an elevator to work." She gestured, "I know the Beeb did a special, they sent some camera crews out, I don't know if GNN has or not. For what it's worth, my own relatives have stayed in those small towns on the Moon and on the L-stations, and I certainly would have heard about any complaints!"

The reporters smiled and chuckled, Lois turned, "I know you gave out stays at the L1 hotel for wedding presents, what were the results?"

"The reports I saw had two major complaints. The first was due to the soundproofing; the 'honeymoon suites' are located very close to the hub. While the hub itself is in vacuum and uses magnetic bearings, the … (she coughed) 'inter-suite' walls were somewhat transparent to … (she coughed again) overly enthusiastic noise, shall we say. The second related to the lighting of the main restaurant, that has several levels and large picture windows, but apparently it was difficult to read the menu. The rest, the zero-gee pool, people don't take the environment into account and manage to get stuck in a bubble of water in mid-air. That's why we have lifeguards." She shrugged, "You can take an elevator ride down for gravity, you can walk through the farms and watch the goats being milked and the fish and chickens being fed. You can see the vegetables being grown, although the fruit trees are still young and haven't started producing yet. You can't get fresher food than that."

"Expensive?"

"Eh," she replied, waggling her hand. "About three thousand pounds per person, including your suit. That's what, about $12,000 or so? However, we offer something that a cruise to the South Seas doesn't: that little ESA pin; you're officially an astronaut, with a numbered government certificate and everything." She grinned.

"You've been called the 'Queen of Space', and now it looks like governments are moving toward some sort of global Terran Empire," Mr. Ullage asked. "What can you tell us about that?"

"Not a lot at this time," Miss Wayne replied. "A lot of that is still up in the air, but we definitely need to work out some sort of defense pact. A lot of the planets we've visited are interested in that kind of thing." She snorted, "We've currently got better defenses than they do with the JLA, and look how often _we've_ been invaded! The difficulty comes down to funding it, and what do the different members get out of it?" She took a gulp of water, "Look at something like NATO, what does a small country like Belgium get out of it, versus a larger country like Germany?" She toyed with her water glass, "As I said, this is still up in the air, but we kicked this around a lot on the flight, got a lot of people's inputs from a lot of different countries."

"A lot of people would be hesitant to sign on to an Empire, but they wouldn't have a problem defending their planets," Liz Koslowski said. "There's also the legal question – would a serving member of the US Army be permitted to join up with the Empire?"

"I know the US Marines have sent personnel to Corfu to help train our people," Mattie said. "My understanding is that they look on it as a career enhancement move, like serving with the Royal Navy. A lot of the people we're getting are prior service, they've done their 'twenty and out'. We run them through a med-tank as part of their signing bonus to fix anything, they come out looking like they did when they were twenty five."

"I'm in!" Larry Ullage said, and people chuckled.

"Sign on the dotted line," she replied with a grin. "With the Solar Guard, Ms. Koslowski, we anticipate having a local defense fleet in each of the systems. That goes back to our producing warships, once we get things figured out. I understand we're making good progress there, but as always, I'm not going to talk about defense matters." Miss Wayne took a gulp from her water glass; off camera an assistant refilled it. "So, if a person wants to stay in system, that's fine by me. If she decides to travel and see the stars, she can sign up with a company like Greywolf, or with the Empire, once we get it organized, that is."

"So why should the Chinese…"

"Beijing or Taipei?"

"Beijing," Ms. Koslowski clarified. "Why should they join up? You're going to defend the planet, you can't exclude them; you can't say, 'Bomb them and not us'."

"True. I can always present a bill to them afterward."

"That's… interesting," Lois Lane said.

"And we'll be right back," Clark Kent said. The red light went out, and he asked, "You're going to present Beijing a bill for their defense?"

"Got a better idea? I'd love to hear it."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 26, 2002: 10:30:45 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The commercial ended and Bill returned with more popcorn. "So what can you tell us about this new Empire thing," he asked Arthur.

"Not a whole lot more," he replied. "Just that people are taking it _way_ too seriously for my taste," he replied. "Mattie's working on something..." he unmated the sound, and the show resumed.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"We're here with Ms. Mattie Wayne of the Solar Guard and Arrowhead," Mr. Kent said. "Should we start calling you 'Queen Mattie' or 'Your Highness?' now?"

"I'd really rather you didn't," she replied.

"Miss Wayne, warships and weapons aren't the only things you'll be making," Ms. Arroz of the _LA Times_ asked. "What else?"

"I've gotten licenses from the System Governor of Windfall for all sorts of nifty things, like reactors that will burn just about any nuclear fuel, like uranium, thorium, and so forth. What we'll be negotiating with our partner countries is reprocessing rights, with UN supervision, for those reactors."

"Reprocessing what?"

"I'm sorry, I was referring to the lunar stockpiles of high-level waste, like fuel rods," she replied. "I've seen file footage of that area on the moon. The design we've licensed from Windfall is a very nice one, up to a thousand megawatts and it's only five meters in diameter and twenty meters high."

"About fifteen by sixty feet, the size of a railroad tank car," Ms. Arroz mentioned.

Ms. Wayne nodded, "Or one of the waste containers that are being lifted into orbit. One nice thing is that it's a sealed unit, so there's no proliferation concerns, and even if a terrorist did manage to crack it open, he'd find things like thorium and U-233, which can't be used in a bomb. Now, the unit runs at about 850C, which is, um..."

"1562 Fahrenheit," Mr. Kent interjected. "About like a candle flame."

Mattie nodded, "Thank you. We use helium gas, which spins the turbines to produce power, so we avoid the problems of steam leaks and water corrosion. It also burns its own waste, so after thirty years or so, when the built-in fuel is depleted, you switch out the unit, and you've got very little radioactive waste. Their half-life is around fifty years, so the unit is depreciated at this point. We can either recondition it, or if that's not economical, we simply launch it into the sun." She swiveled in her chair, "It's ideal for things like space stations, orbital docks and building slips, where we're going to need serious amounts of power, in the megawatt and gigawatt range. With the current efficiencies of solar cells, they only produce in the kilowatt range, and that just won't cut it."

"Let's talk about the things we're building in orbit," Larry Ullage asked. "You mentioned Tanaka Heavy Industries earlier, what about unions?"

"I have no problems with unions," she replied. "I'll be more than happy to sit down and negotiate a contract." She paused while a short video clip played showing orbital workers; then continued. "Don't forget, we also have other planets that will need orbital works built and operated." Ms. Wayne swiveled in her chair, "Now, some people have the idea that an orbital factory is rows of people putting nuts on bolts, or welding or riveting. As you just saw, the reality is that robots do the repetitive work; they can do it much faster and more accurately. Where the people come in are monitoring robots, they sit in a chair, or actually, float in front of a console to monitor the robots."

She swiveled again, "The reason they get hazard pay is they may need to go out and correct a fault on the robot, we need people who can make a value judgment, and software isn't up to that." She took another sip of coffee, "So people go in to work their shift, they keep an eye on a dozen or so robots, make sure there's no supply problem for those nuts or rivets, and if there's a fault, they push the big red stop button. If nothing like that happens, they log out after their shift. As I've said before, in zero gee, we have no problems with disabled persons, you may have noticed one of the people in that clip was an amputee." Taking a sip of water, she added, "Once you have the first location built, the rest of it is simply monitoring the bots, and building and assembling pre-fabricated sections. When the _Manhattan_ docked, it was my first look inside the GEO docks; there was lots of steel and aluminum. Granted, it wasn't pretty, there wasn't any art on the walls, and you could see plumbing and conduit in the deck heads, just like LEO and GEO stations. It's public transit, not a museum." She took another sip of water, "However, from design to completion in a few weeks, that's pretty good, and I must say, the view out the ports still was… stupendous."

"What about colony work?"

"My only condition is that you be willing and able to take people in apprenticeships, with standardized guild examinations." She turned a bit, "People are familiar with the slave resettlement we're doing here; you've all seen photos of the girls and their collars." She paused while the image of a collared girl in a yellow-trimmed white smock appeared. "Well, there's another one on Windfall for hotel girls." She motioned with her mug, "We've all stayed in hotels and motels. With some of these, they come with a slave girl, who is there to fill your every need." She paused, and emphasized, "EVERY need."

"I remember from your June interview a video clip you showed," Mr. Rivers said. "This is worse?"

"That depends on how you define 'worse'," she said. "These slaves are bred to be sold to hotels when they're ten or eleven. They spend the next few years as room slaves, and when an accountant somewhere decides they are no longer sufficiently pretty, around age seventeen or so, they are no longer economical, they are sold off..." she paused, "...as animal food. LIVE animal food."

"So they are... literally... thrown to the lions?"

"Strictly as a business decision," she said, and turned to face the camera. "I know that there are people watching who have sisters or daughters around seventeen. Think of them being bound and thrown naked to face something out of the Jurassic, just as a routine operation. Feeding the animals in the zoo, cost of doing business. What's more, those young women know they'll be disposed of, they're informed of that in order to improve their service, so hopefully the room occupant will buy them." There was silence, "I can't save every slave in the galaxy. I'll be damned, however, if I'm going to sit by and watch a bright, intelligent young woman wearing a slave collar being toyed with by a fifty meter T-Rex, who's playing with its food."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

In Canada, there were various expressions of disbelief, and Christine appropriated the remote, hitting the mute button. "Believe it! I worked with those girls, they knew they were going to die; their only hope was a private master." She threw down the remote and stormed off as people looked at each other. After a minute, someone got up and went after her, while someone else picked up the remote and restored the sound.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"… roll the first clip," they heard Kent say, and watching people saw their first video of another world.

Approaching from orbit, they saw a small space station, with white spheres zipping about in orbit. There was a banking turn, and they saw three large continents connected with land bridges. The camera flew along; the land covered with huge trees, dipping lower and lower, finally flying along a river. Ms. Wayne's voice mentioned, "Those trees average four to five hundred meters high," as the trip continued. "Can you be ready to pause it ... now!" The screen froze, backed up, then slowly played a battle of giant carnivores, with giant birds perching in the trees, waiting for scraps. Four giant animals fought in the shallows of a river, while the river creature fought back, and smaller predators lurked in the shadows of trees. Ms. Wayne's voice came again, "Remember the scale. Those small silverbacks in the trees are roughly twenty feet tall. They're a pack predator, but they're also scavengers, like raptors. I said this planet was straight out of the Jurassic. Go ahead, please." The video resumed, flying along the river, when a head suddenly lunged out of the water, attacking the camera, which swerved sideways. It traveled up a smaller river, slowing as it approached a cliff with nearby trees. Wookies could be seen climbing up and down the trees, as it closed on one particular tree. The video ended there, and the studio lights came up, the camera returning to the participants.

"They're one of the planets that is considering joining with us," Ms. Wayne said. "Now, they're thinking of an alliance, they're great people, honest, honorable, as you saw they don't have slaves, but they know they need help. They have some orbital works, as you saw, but they have a very limited population."

"What kind of help are they looking for?" Ms. Lane asked.

"Their population is dwindling, they're an arboreal species, and they're looking to colonize someplace else so they won't die out. Basically, they're losing the fight against the Jurassic dinosaurs. They have only a few ships, so in consultation with Governor Sullivan, we're going..." she stopped suddenly. "Oops."

"What's an 'Oops'?" Mr. Kent said.

"I've been trying not to release the name of the System Governor," Ms. Wayne replied. "She's been off-world for a while, she's back on some home leave, getting caught up with family, and I don't want to invade her privacy with battalions of newsies. I think she's watching, so I'll just say, 'Sorry!' to her."

"'Newsies?' Should we be offended?" Ms. Koslowski said with a grin. "I think that's understandable, but what can you tell us about her?"

"Well, for any journalists that might have taken offense, I apologize," Ms. Wayne said. "As far as the governor, she deposited several hundred tons of precious metals into Windfall's account. I've said before, if you want to be rich, go to the Belt, and Windfall has two of them." Ms. Wayne tented her fingers. "I think I'm going to shift the question just a bit, back to the planet." She took a sip of coffee, "Windfall is the planet I've mentioned before; I've got a clip, it should be the second one. It's not as dramatic as the dinosaurs, sorry. Please pause it after you see the station and the cruiser."

Once again the lights dimmed, this video started from farther out. "Middle of the inner asteroid belt," Ms. Wayne commented. This ran for about ninety seconds, the camera swerving to avoid a large rock, with the comment, "Common size, about a kilometer. Can you reverse so people can see what one looks like?" The video backed up, and then advanced slowly, people saw a roughly bowling-pin shaped rock. It moved on, the planet clearly visible, pausing with the small white station centered on it. Ms. Wayne commented, "That's a temporary station that's become permanent. On the planet, you can see the only continent; it's roughly nine million square kilometers, so a little bit larger than Australia. You can see that it's roughly pentagonal, with a large river taking the drainage from the other four. The original colony is known as Landing, if you look up the second river from the left, the one that runs roughly up toward ten o'clock, the site is in the foothills. Another site, which we're calling Riverside, is a little bit north of the main river's mouth, on the west bank. We're too far out to see the actual sites, but in the lower right, about five o'clock, there's a large island that looks kind of like a sideways pear. That's the Island site; you can see other chains of islands along the coasts, and a river channel runs northeast to southwest along the east coast of the continent. That's the location where I spent my summer vacation," and some people chuckled.

"So how do the Wookies factor into this?" Mr. Ullage said.

"The continent is heavily forested," she replied. "Can you advance the video to low orbit, please, they should see it." Once again the video advanced, approaching, then moving into an eastward orbit. Ms. Wayne's voice said, "If you notice, with the exception of a few small islands, the planet is mostly ocean. We think that happened from global warming in the last few hundred thousand years, there is some volcano activity, and the planetary icecaps are fairly small. It's a warm world; the star is a G5, a little bit smaller and cooler than our Sun, with a denser atmosphere, so it's really difficult to get a tan. The planet orbits a little closer, and surface gravity is three quarters Earth's. Please pause the video when the continent shows."

She waited a minute, "Okay, lights, please." They came up and the camera centered on her. "Regarding the main, original Landing site, there are some overgrown farms extending out thirty or forty klicks from the main Landing village. The World Health Organization issued a statement regarding their findings about the supposed 'plague'. It's on their website, and a link on Arrowhead's."

"And with that, we're going to take a break," Mr. Kent said. "Back after these messages." The red light went out, and an assistant went around refilling water glasses and coffee mugs. "So the Wookies are leasing a sub-colony from us?" he asked.

"No, we plan to integrate them into the community," she replied. "I need that box now," she asked the assistant.

"Under the table, ma'am," the assistant said who was touching up her makeup.

The director called, "And we're back in five, four, three..." and he pointed again.

Mr. Kent faced the camera, "Welcome back to this live special edition of Crossfire, I'm Clark Kent in Metropolis, and today's special guest is Ms. Mattie Wayne. If you're just joining us, we've been discussing colonization of a distant planet known as Windfall." He turned, "Ms. Wayne, before the break you mentioned co-colonizing the planet with another species that we've been referring to as 'Wookies'. Can you expand on that, please?"

"Certainly, Mr. Kent. The viewers may remember them from a visit to New York a year or so ago. A capsule summary, they are an intelligent, arboreal species that are losing the competition on their home world. We happen to have a planet whose single continent is primarily forest. There is a failed colony there, most of the population was wiped out by a disease." She swiveled in her chair, "Among other tasks, we took along a team of epidemiologists from the World Health Organization to give us information about this disease. There is a layman's report, and one that is far more detailed for the medical professionals on their web site, but it essentially says that a bug infested some grain, and politicians killed the survivors."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

In Columbus, Bill hit the mute on the remote and looked at his older brother, "No way."

"Yes, way," Arthur replied, deadly serious. "I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and Daala was a bastard who wouldn't have a problem with doing it if it lined his pockets."

"Crap…" Julie said, grabbing the remote and restoring the sound.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"… evidence, both physical and government records, to support that." Mattie said. "Essentially, water worlds, habitable planets, are fairly rare, and as such worth a lot of money. You therefore have people trying to steal them, like the Dominator led invasion of Earth many years ago, and system defensive forces with warships. This was one reason the Solar Guard was founded. I'll get to that, and warships in a minute, but with the 'plague' (she finger-quoted), some rather greedy, ambitious and corrupt politicians saw the way to seize and maintain power." She turned back, "And before anyone says anything, I'm sure we can come up with a decent-sized list of Terran politicians who exhibit those same characteristics."

"What evidence do you have?" Ms. Arroz asked.

"First, as I mentioned before the break, there is, or was, a warship, a light cruiser in orbit, the _Elder's Wisdom_. It masses about forty thousand tons, with a crew of about one-fifty. The original Sandur home world sent an evacuation ship, and started to evacuate the colonists by shuttle. This was a very neat, orderly evacuation; people thought they would be returning to their homes in a few months after medical treatment. The settlements were dusty, but everything was put away, the lights off, and the doors locked, like you'd do before going on vacation. Our people said it was spooky, they expected someone to walk in. The ship managed to get most everyone, who at this point was primarily wives, daughters, and so forth. They missed three male slaves, we found them locked in a cell, and gave them a proper burial."

"At this point, the Riverside and Landing sites had been evacuated, and the ship called on the Island site. Now, at this point, Island is operating under emergency law. Civil rights had been suspended; the Council of Elders had total power. After a long discussion, they realize that if they stay, they will own the planet, which is worth trillions. They therefore decline evacuation, and shoot down the shuttle that tries to land."

"What did the people think?" Ms. Arroz said.

"They weren't told," Ms. Wayne said. "The population at the time was under emergency law, the Elders came up with an 'abandonment' story, which their Ministry of Information drummed into their heads. Any dissenters were quietly arrested and given a long walk off a short pier. We've found some skeletal remains, chains, clothing, concrete and so forth, as well as the wrecked shuttle underwater. We have photos of these we published, as well as transcripts of the Council debates, and some people still don't believe it." She shrugged.

"What about the evacuation ship?"

"That was a merchant vessel that stood no chance whatsoever against a light cruiser. The _Wisdom's_ computer shows one missile fired in 'training' at about the right time." Ms. Wayne's chair turned, "The Elders are notorious for... frugality. It seems very strange that the only live-fire training ever conducted for the _Wisdom_ was that one day; and that the elder brother of one of the Council was commanding the ship at that time. However, there are no records that specifically say 'we shot down a merchant ship', just a short, two word message to the Council date stamped then." She finger quoted, "Target destroyed."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Monday, August 26, 2002: 12:05:15 (GMT -5)  
Metropolis, GNN studios, backstage:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You are so lucky you don't have to futz with this," Mattie told Crystal as she removed her makeup.

"Ladies first," Mr. Ullage said as he gulped from a bottle of water. "Miss Wayne, you mentioned playing chess with the Chinese. Care to expand on that?"

"Off the record," and Lois Lane cursed, "I should never have taught you that phrase. Okay, I'm in. Everyone else?" There were grunts and muttered 'okays', and she said, "Fire away."

"First of all, the permanent members of the Security Council are also the ones with the most space launch capability." She finished her makeup removal and accepted a bottle of water from Crystal, Mr. Ullage taking her place. "However, most of their efforts are to low orbit, it takes extra effort to get to higher, synchronous orbits."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Mr. Rivers of the _Chicago Tribune_ said, taking Ms. Arroz' place as Mr. Kent took Lois Lane's.

Miss Wayne continued, "Now, most of those satellites in the higher orbits are military-related, and they are not designed to be serviced. We, however, normally operate in those altitudes with the satellite salvage and refurbishment business out of GEO station. As such, we've run into very … interesting … satellites with builder's plates, listing manufacturers and serial numbers that were never expected to be seen again. Furthermore, the orbits they are in give us a good idea of who their owners are interested in." She took a swallow from her bottle of water, "I don't think those owners would like publication of those photos."

Ms. Koslowski of the _New York Times_ asked, "You have _photographic_ proof, Wayne?"

"For at least a dozen countries, and don't forget the graveyard orbits."

"Fu…" Mr. Ullage exhaled. "You weren't kidding about chess."

"I'm actually a better poker player," she admitted.

"No kidding," Mr. Kent said. "What do you plan to do?"

"The game's still young," she replied. "Only a few pawns are in play so far. To mix a metaphor, we'll play our cards, roll the dice and see where the chips fall." She smiled, "I'm so glad you've all agreed not to publish. Any other questions?"

There was a growl, then Ms. Arroz of the Los Angeles Times asked, "Okay, different subject. I know a lot of people would be interested in going, but with the economy the way it is, they can't afford it."

"We're working on that," Mattie said. "Still off the record."

"Crap," Ms. Arroz said. "Okay, I'm in."

"So am I," Mr. Ullage said. "Shoot."

Ms. Wayne looked at the other journalists in the room, who nodded. "We're working on a financing plan with Gringotts, and maybe other banks. The colony would issue 'Colony Credits', which would serve as a line of credit for buying a claim and a ship, or transport to a planet and cash to buy equipment. This would be separate than a regular business account. You default on it; they foreclose on it."

"Not everyone's a farmer," Larry Ullage said.

"Don't have to be," Ms. Wayne replied. "Let's take a look at the trade port we're putting in on P'wheel. A lot of the infrastructure is already built there, we just need to inspect it and make sure it's sound. Maybe a quarter of our claim there is a big lagoon, there's water-born cargo. We're figuring a thousand or so people on the island, another couple hundred in orbit. The farms on the island supply food to the orbital cargo station as well as for ships we have in orbit, as well as export." She accepted a bottle of water from Crystal, "The planet's semi-tropical, but like any town, you're going to need everyone from cobblers to mailmen to schoolteachers. Electricians to plumbers, mechanics to fix machines, pilots to fly up and down to orbit, and to other trade ports on planet."

"This is where?"

"M7, about a thousand light years from here. A spherical cluster, about twenty-five light years across, fairly young stars, about eighty or so. We know of about thirty inhabited planets, mostly young colonies." She took a gulp of water, "We think we have some competitive advantages, and we're patient enough to service struggling new colonies. The 'slow dollar' as opposed to the 'fast nickel' approach, but according to our contract with the planetary authorities, we only have a year to get everything up and going." She finished the bottle and tossed it in the trash, "We should be able to do it with modular construction on the station; and now, I've got about an hour to get to the airport for my flight to Gotham."

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****Monday, August 26, 2002: 13:28 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham International Airport:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The two heavyweight thugs stood as Mattie hugged her mother and introduced Crystal. One approached and said politely, "'Scuse me, Miss Wayne. Mr. Cobblepot asked us to come and make sure you got home okay. You should have his private number if you want to check." He motioned, "I'm Joey Thumbs, 'dis is Bruno the Cheeze. Louie Bottoms is waitin' wit' the limo an' the driver."

"What about my car?" Selina asked.

"Louie will drive it back ta your house, if that's okay, Mrs. Wayne."

"Let me give Ozzie a call, I do appreciate your boys showing up," Selina said.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

The three Tong men stepped out of concealment, blocking the way. The lead bowed respectfully, "Your pardon, Miss Wayne, but the Ghost Dragons request the honor of your company." He glanced at Selina and Crystal, "Please proceed, our business is only with Miss Wayne."

"And what is that business?" Selina asked, taking a step in front of her daughter as Crystal drew her wand.

"My apologies, Mrs. Wayne, but this lowly one was not informed of this. A debt is owed to Boss Marone, who is calling in the debt in the form of Miss Wayne." He glanced at Crystal, "We understand that Miss Wayne is a magic user, as is her bodyguard. This has been taken into account."

"Will your magic handle a .45?" Joey Thumbs asked, drawing his. "Mr. Cobblepot wanted her seen home safe-like, and I ain't gonna disappoint Mr. Cobblepot."

"Unfortunately," the Tong member sighed, "I am informed the only other suitable reply is the location of Ms. Castellano."

"She's in orbit of one of four hundred billion stars in this galaxy," Mattie said. "I'm not selling her." She motioned off to the side, "Crystal, take cover."

"I'm your bodyguard!" she exclaimed.

"You ain't from Gotham," Bruno said, pulling out a sawed-off shotgun. "We is. Take cover, girlie."

"Welcome to Gotham City," Selina said. She cracked her whip, "I may be retired, boys; but you're tangling with the Catwoman and her daughter. You get to her through me."

"Crystal, get the tourists under cover;" Mattie said, drawing her wand. "Some good solid concrete." She twisted her wrist, and a bo staff popped into existence. "Don't bother the cops, they won't get here in time. Besides," she grinned, "there's only twenty of them."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Ah," I needed that," Mattie said, helping Crystal out from under the makeshift barricade. "You all right?" she asked the tourists who had sheltered behind Crystal and the levitated barrels of sand that had protected them.

"You're…" one young woman said.

"Mattie Wayne," she replied. "Welcome to Gotham City." She ignored her sliced blouse sleeve and the cuts on her face. "A minor business disagreement."

"MINOR?" the young woman said. "There was … gunfire, and… and…" She blinked, and turned to Crystal, "Are you…"

"Don't bloody look at me, it's my first visit. I'm from London."

"Ya did okay, for a Brit cop," Joey Thumbs said. "Get y'self a piece, though, ya gonna visit." He sat patiently as Mattie cast healing spells. He eyed her, "Maybe some body armor, too. You're wi' Miss Wayne, we'll get ya set up through Mr. Cobblepot. Mebbe a ten millimeter wi' hollowpoints, a couple extra clips." He nodded at Mattie, "'Tanks, Miss Wayne. What about those mooks? Ya want 'em ta take a swim?"

"Of course not," she replied. "They're troops, Marone's the driver. Where's Bruno?"

"'Wit' th' lead." He stood, trailing after her as Crystal brought up the end.

"Ah, greetings," Mattie said to the lead Tong.

He stood, bowing respectfully. "Miss Wayne. Please understand that this entire business is strictly that, business. We have no personal animus against you."

"This is understood, and there are no personal disagreements." He nodded, and she continued, "Please convey to your master that I grant your lives to him, without further debt or obligation. I understand he was discharging a debt owed to Boss Marone. As far as I am concerned, that debt is paid, and I shall be making a call upon Boss Marone regarding this debt."

"You are most generous, Miss Wayne, and I shall convey your words to my master." He cleared his throat, "Our weapons?" She took a half step to the side, and he bowed again, "Most generous indeed. Should this regretful business be satisfied with honor, I shall request of my master that you may call upon the Ghost Dragons."

"Most kind of you, and my best wishes to you and your master," she said. Bows were once again exchanged, and the Tong collected their weapons and disappeared like smoke.

"I don' get it," Bruno said.

Joey snorted, "Their master can' do nothin' against her now, he'd lose face. Want us ta take care o' th' cops, Miss Wayne?"

"Just fade into the background, Crystal and I will handle them."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You know, Crystal, I DID say that Gotham was nothing like London." The werewolf just twitched, and Mattie sat back, regarding her friend. "You going to be all right?"

Crystal twitched and shivered, and Mattie got up, "I'll get you a calming potion."

"How can you be so bloody calm?" Crystal almost shrieked.

"I grew up here." She regarded Crystal; "A double dose."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
Monday, August 26, 2002: 16:55 (GMT)  
Thir****day, 1 Septus, 162, 23:42 (WFT +1)  
****Windfall, Port Lincoln, Meeting room 8:  
***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Greetings, ma'am," the recently-liberated slave girl told Nicole, who had stood to greet her.

"And to you," she replied, gesturing to a seat. "You had questions?"

"Yes, ma'am," and she grinned. "It is becoming less of a habit to say 'master' or 'mistress' when I see your own collar. You fought your own collaring?" Nicole nodded, and the new girl blew out her breath, "I wish I had…" She shook that off; then raised the forms she had received, "I was surprised that I was not being offered for resale, I did expect that to occur, even if you said it would not happen." She shrugged, "How often have Masters lied to us? However, I have seen no evidence of it occurring here."

"Yes. Any re-assignment would take place in your presence, and with your consent, and I know that seems strange," Nicole replied. "What I have found strange is some of the local girls have requested a collar, they are doing penance to the Source (both made the Source's circle) for their sins."

"Different planet…" the girl said.

"Precisely," Nicole agreed. She looked at her data padd, "When I was reviewing your data, I thought of a possible name for you to consider: Alison."

"Interesting, ma'am. I had not been able to think of one myself. How did you?"

"I cheated slightly," Nicole confessed. "It is the same method my former master Frank used; I considered the last two digits of your number, 13, and the thirteenth element is aluminum. A very useful metal, it can be hard as steel or soft enough to compact in your hand." She played with a stylus, "That is for you to consider. On to business, you have had time to consider your results."

"I have," 'Alison' replied, shifting slightly in her chair. "I tested as enjoying meeting new people, same location, and food, drink and service. I also preferred a 'change in seasons', although I do not understand the last."

"What the Terrans refer to in a 'change of seasons' is the transitions between fall and winter, and spring and summer," Nicole explained. "The temperature will change, some tree leaves will change colors and fall off, there may be snow and ice on the ground, and you will eat and drink hot beverages and foods and need heavier clothing. Opposing that is summer, where it will be hot all the time, and iced drinks will be in great demand."

She sat back in her own chair, "There are several possible positions with this combination, let us examine an example seedling." She pulled up a map; "This one sits in the end-point of a river, with a chain of lakes, and meets a large, north-south river. Their docks and government area are here, along this side of the large island." She tapped her teeth with a stylus in thought, "One thing you may wish to consider is a combination of work. Here (she tapped her screen) is a postal and bank building. It is on one side of this government building, in the middle is a series of meeting rooms, and on the other side are government offices. You may decide to work for the postal business, transferring letters and packages to and from persons." She smiled slightly, "Be aware that the business' colors are yellow and red."

'Alison' considered this, "Was there another, ma'am?

"Another came to mind, something we are more familiar with. There is a transient housing, what the Terrans call a 'pub', for 'public house', where travelers may rent a room … (she held up a hand) … _without_ an occupying room slave."

'Alison' folded her hands, "How would that work, ma'am?"

"As I understand it, a traveler would rent a room, there is an associated tavern where they may relax with food and drink while they conduct their business. You would be employed in cleaning and making the rooms suitable for the travelers, cooking the food, serving it and the beverages as needed, and making certain that various health and safety laws are obeyed. You yourself would not be available for rental or slave rape, you would be concerned only with the rooms and the tavern, not only in service, but as a part-owner."

"Travelers often need to rape a slave to relieve their stress," 'Alison' said.

"Terrans consider forcible rape as a high crime, one of the few they have made a death - crime. How that would occur with a female that puts herself on market, for her voluntary rape, I do not know." She tented her fingers, "It comes to consent. You have had the chance to travel the island?" 'Alison' nodded, and Nicole continued, "You have observed roadside gallows, the locals believe in public punishment as a lesson and deterrent. In speaking with some of the older girls, they have witnessed free males being hung for the rape of slaves. It is not simply words to the Terrans; they will do what they say. They are believers in law, and that means a trial where the accused may speak for themselves; and with a speaker-of-law's assistance. They have a phrase they use, 'Innocent until proven guilty,' so you may not simply accuse someone, you must be able to prove it."

"That is …" 'Alison' was shocked.

"The Terrans believe in equality, should you have as a client at your public house the System Governor, she will be treated no differently than any other. Do not forget, there is competition; there is nothing to keep another from building their own public house across the road from yours. That is why you are allowed, encouraged I should say, to invest your funds."

"We are PAID, mistress?"

"You are," Nicole replied. "The public house's owner might pay you, oh, we shall use ten grams a day. This is only to talk about, I do not know what your actual pay might be." 'Alison' nodded, and Nicole continued, "For your food and shelter, she might hold back two grams, another gram in taxes, the other seven are yours to do with as you might. You may spend it; bank it, or what you please. The Terrans also have a strange custom known as 'tipping', in which your tavern customers will leave tungsten on the table, greater or lesser amounts depending on how they evaluated your service. It is calculated as a fraction of the bill, if the bill comes to ten grams, and they are pleased with your service, they might leave a gram or two extra for you. If they are displeased, they may leave nothing, and complain to the owner, so it is to your benefit to treat them well."

"That… sounds interesting," 'Alison' said. "I also will adopt the name you have offered me. I am now 'Alison'."

"Excellent!" Nicole said. "We have nine seedling colonies built, and more are being built as we speak." She changed maps, "These are built, along this more northern line." She flicked a glance, "You saw the information of the predator – beast, the wabbit? You are aware of the dangers, and the need to wear a weapon to defend yourself and others?"

"It … I am sorry, ma'am, but the idea of arming a slave …"

"One reason for you TO wear one, you have a right to defend yourself," Nicole said. "I confess, I myself found it strange (she tapped her own collar), but I can see the reason. You must, and this is a difficult part, consider yourself not a slave girl, but a free female who wears a collar." She leaned forward, "Alison the free female may defend herself; the collared slave 10213 is not permitted. Do you see the difference? Alison may do as she wishes; she is a free female with rights and duties to herself and her colony. 10213 must seek the permission of her owner, she is property; she is a slave without rights. Her owner may do as he wishes with her, while Alison the free female must give her consent."

"That … that is still a mental shift, mist… ma'am."

"One that I myself still fight with," Nicole admitted, sitting back with a smile. "Was there any other business we needed to discuss?"

"I wished to go to that seedling," Alison said. "To remember my friend 10317, who was not fortunate enough to be bought by Terrans."

"They cannot buy every slave," Nicole agreed. "I will put you down for seedling 17, then." She stood, as did the newly named Alison, and they walked to the door.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, August 27, 2002: 10:42 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Gotham City, Iceberg Lounge:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

London had its share of strange theme pubs, but this one… Crystal had to admit, it took the bloody shilling. Not only were the clientele strange, but also it seemed to be carved out of the inside of a glacier, and the A/C certainly reflected it. She saw several of the female patrons wearing sweaters, while the waitresses all wore a tuxedo style leotard with fishnet hose. She noticed one booth in the back that was covered in vines, no men got within twenty feet of it. Of course, after greeting several of the (presumed) regulars and making small talk, that's immediately where Miss Wayne went; the vines parting of their own to admit her. Crystal could see a buxom redhead with pale skin sitting inside. One of the waitresses stopped after serving them, asking "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm Miss Wayne's bodyguard, no thanks, although…" Crystal chewed her lower lip, "Some answers?"

"New in town," she nodded. "I'm Sparrow, all the girls have bird names, don't ask, long story." Sparrow continued, "Don't point. The guy at the bar with pairs of shots is known as 'Two-Face', his thing is the number two, and flipping a coin to make decisions. The owner is known as 'Penguin', like the bird, that's his thing. The big green-scaled guy is Killer Croc, and the lady Miss Wayne is meeting with is known as 'Poison Ivy'. Plants are her thing, but don't worry, being female, Miss Wayne isn't at risk of being 'greened'."

Crystal raised an eyebrow, "Greened?"

"Ivy puts out some type of hormone-thing that let her control men," Sparrow said. "I've heard it smells like Lemon Pledge®, you know, the furniture wax?" Sparrow lowered her voice, "Ms. Ivy is a rather … strong environmental type. No wood, paper, plant products, that kinda thing. She wants to let the plants take over the planet. Anyway, let me get you some ice water."

She walked off, and Crystal wondered what kind of asylum this town was.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, August 27, 2002: 10:48 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Grandview Heights, Parkinson Circle:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"You ready for school?" Bill Morton asked as he eased carefully into his sons' room.

"Yeah, dad," Little Bill said, sharing a look with his older brother. "I've got Arthur's second year books, I'm pretty much good to go. You gonna be?"

"The doctors at L4 said it will take a week or so to readjust to gravity," Big Bill replied. "I kept up with the calcium intake, it's just getting the right set of muscles used to working again." He sat with a sigh in a vacated chair, and Arthur shot a muscle-relaxant spell at him. "Ahh. Thanks, Arthur. We kept the common room at a third gravity, so that helped, its essentially restarting exercise. I'll be fine. Thanks, though."

"Okay, dad," Arthur said. "I need to get my robes and uniforms final-fitted in London, aside from that, my stuff is stored at Charlie's house. Julie's got my third-year books and notes, so as far as I'm concerned, we could go today or tomorrow." He took a seat on his bed, "By the way, Mattie's sending me one of the Windfall motor-trikes for Christmas; I'm not supposed to know about it. She didn't want to show up Hank's grav cycle with an off-world unit, so when Mrs. Wayne ships it to you, well, you'll know about it."

"Okay," Big Bill said as he slowly rose to his feet to check on his daughters.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, August 27, 2002: 13:26 (GMT)  
Terra, Croydon, Whitgift Centre, food court:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Ah…" Sprink said. "I've missed a good chippie place."

"You ate like you hadn't had a meal since you left," her mum said.

"Well, I was on ship for most of it, and while the food was perfectly good, it just was … well, you could tell it was replicated." Her sister looked at her, and Sprink nodded. "I recognized Mrs. Weasley's touch with food, an' I'm sure it was identical down to the last atom, but still … fresh wins out." She played with the vinegar packets on her tray.

"So tell us about this snow planet," Tonks said.

"Colder than our South Pole, an' the wind goes straight to your bones," her sister said. "Wee little colony there around this great big bloody lake, the ice on the lake is like meters thick," she continued, not noticing some others at surrounding tables were quietly listening in. "We nicknamed it 'Frostbite Falls', but they're sitting on some truly huge ore deposits, and the fish there, oh, my…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Tuesday, August 27, 2002: 22:19 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Adams home, kitchen:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"So, ready to go and learn new things?" his Dad said, and Charlie nodded.

"Sorry we haven't seen each other much this summer," he said. "I had a great trip, though."

"Yes, and thank you for writing, and letting me see your photos, I almost know these people." He sighed, "Well, I have you for a day or so to myself, at least."

"Dad, I'll only be in Scotland!"

"Good night, son," his dad said before closing the door.

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, August 28, 2002: 08:33 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Heathrow International Floo (arrivals):  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

The fire flared green, and Crystal stepped out, examining the area, followed by a yawning Mattie and Tomas. She sighed, "Sorry to say it, but your home town is bloody starkers, Miss Wayne."

"No argument, senora," Tomas said as he got in line, while Mattie blew the fireplace ash off the plastic cover of her cup of coffee. She took a gulp from the paper cup; then set it on the linoleum floor to enlarge her luggage. Extending the cart, she waved to the equally sleepy Cortez sisters, in line ahead of them.

A yawning, stumbling Connie Koslowski stepped out of the fire from New York as Julie, the last of the Mortons cleared Customs, turning and waiting for them. "I should have brought coffee, there was a MickeyD's in the terminal," then asked Mattie, "Hey, what did you tell my Mom in that interview? She's been pissed off the last few days."

"No worse than my aunt and uncle," she replied around Tomas, who traded places with her.

"How's she doing, your aunt, I mean. Has't she popped yet?"

"No, and for various reasons the docs don't want to induce labor, so little Lana gets to stay where she is for now. On the other hand, my niece Mary Elizabeth is growing like a weed, she…"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, August 28, 2002: 10:47 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, GEO docks, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Cabin C-05:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Eleanor turned as the cabin's door opened, a curly haired brunette stood there, head cocked and looking at the doorjamb. "Hello," she offered when the young woman didn't move, who gave a small start.

"Hello, you're … (she glanced at the doorframe, with the occupant's names on a display) … Eleanor?"

"That is indeed my name, and you would be?"

"Oh, sorry!" She shook herself; then stepped in, the door sliding shut behind her. She paused to glance at it; then shook herself again. "Karen Meyers, going to site seventeen. I'm their computer and communications girl. I tend to zone when I run across new technology. Sorry." She half-lifted her boarding printout, "You did say you were good with a roomie?"

"Indeed, I am," Eleanor said, and hesitated. "You aren't a smoker, are you?"

Karen shook her head, and Eleanor exhaled. "Good."

"I feel a little sorry for them," Karen said. "After all, what are they going to do when their supply runs out? For that matter, where would they smoke aboard ship? An airlock, I assume."

"I suppose," Eleanor said. "In any case, I'm glad it's a habit I did not develop. Would you like my help unpacking?"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"You mentioned you tended to 'zone', I believe you called it," Eleanor said. She was trying to get the Yank adjusted to drinking tea instead of coffee, and they were working their way through the menu of Windfall teas.

"Yes, I have a habit of trying to figure out tech at first glance," Karen replied. "Oh, this is a good one," she said, taking a swallow. "At least until the coffee bushes get planted. Anyway; this is a fantastic challenge, building the infrastructure of a planet." She took a more contemplative sip, "It's not just the comms, it's also things like the ports and locks, moving things like mail and packages and cargo and passengers. Anyway, I had everything packed up, and I didn't want to sit around my apartment for another two days, so when I heard I could, I came early. I posted a message to the discussion board, I'm looking forward to meeting some of the people." She glanced at her part of the desk; it had the ship's terminal extended, but also her own laptop open and active.

Eleanor, on the other hand, hadn't uncased her own. She sat across from Karen, "Don't you find that all frightfully complicated?"

"Na," the brunette replied. "It's all standards based, although technology is a moving target, so you have to specialize, and I wonder why some of the decisions were made the way they were. I am going to miss the 'Net, though. We'll just have to build a new one on Windfall. I'm looking forward to it, but for now, what say you and I get cleaned up a bit, go check out the lounge's wine list and see if there are any cute guys?"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, August 28, 2002: 11:23 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Canary Wharf, Imperial Intelligence (Operations):  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Well, I can't say I'm in agreement with everything you said…" Mattie complained. "Still, I can see your reasoning." She pushed the button for the lift, turning as a young woman asked, "Master Arthur? Is that you?"

Arthur turned, "C'ari?" and was engulfed by an enthusiastic redhead. He said, "Can't… breathe…" and she let him go. "What are you doing here?"

"Our ship is here for installation of some equipment, Master," and he held up a finger, "Please, no 'Master' or 'Mistress', remember?"

"Oh, that kitchen seems so far away," she said, grabbing his hands and bouncing. The elevator 'dinged' and people got on and off, several glancing at the group.

Mattie cleared her throat, "Why don't we clear away, we can stop and get something to eat and catch up?" Crystal nodded, "Several parks and takeaways about here. We can sit and take off our shoes; put our feet in the fountains and talk."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, ASHLEY…" Mattie said, "I do believe you owe me an explanation." She folded her legs, sitting sideways on a marble bench and leaned forward, gazing at the other girl as she cast a privacy spell.

Unlike her shipmates, the shorthaired platinum blonde wore a slave tunic and a short white cotton skirt. She chewed her lip, then said, "Um, mistress…"

"No 'mistress'," she said, irritated. "I know you're not forced to say it, and I thought we had an agreement. Talk."

The blonde stared into the relentless green eyes, and found herself confessing, "I feel safe, protected. I … enjoy the feeling of being bound, of having tight metal on me, holding me, keeping me in my place, in… my natural place. (Her hands had moved back, she had unconsciously cuffed herself.) I … enjoy the tightness of my belt, I can feel it keeping me secure." She blushed, admitting, "When I worked for you, one reason I wore leather was the tightness, the sweaty grip it had, the … you're too young, you don't understand, I know it's a … fetish, and my collar permits it." Her face was red, "There are times I don't like it, when I know it's bad for me, when my enhancement forces me to do things I don't want to, but even when … well, when the brickworks hooded and bound me, and forced me to run home, while I hated part of it, I was thoroughly enjoying the sensations, the feeling of my hair on my body, the … the motion of my thighs against my belt, the tug of my hands … (she moaned softly) … oh, the feeling of the steel holding my wrists, the resistance when I move … Oh… (she moaned again) … it feels … it feels…"

Miss Wayne cleared her throat, "ASHLEY!" The blonde blinked, coming back to herself, and Mattie leaned forward, "Ashley, do you understand that it's not only bad for you, but a personal embarrassment on my part? I thought you understood that I screwed up, I did you wrong, and I want to fix it." Her hand raised toward the older girl's shoulder, then stopped in frustration, pounding gently on the marble bench. "God – DAMN it, girl, haven't you ever wanted to fix a mistake?"

Looking down, Ashley murmured, "Yes, ma'am."

"This is what, the second? Third time we've had this conversation? Damnit, you're not helping either one of us!"

Ashley blushed, "Yes, ma'am, believe me, I do realize that it's not good, but … when you threatened to _free_ me in that meeting, well, I panicked, I thought '_No more wonderful feelings_' and that's when I tried to slap you, so I could stay in my collar." She twisted her head about, "I know it's not good, it's … self destructive, but I just _don't care_."

"Hmf," Mattie grunted. "You don't care that you're a slave? Okay. I wash my hands of you. I'll have your captain sell you off for a gram."

Ashley's eyes bulged out. "You … can't! You …" she struggled with her cuffed hands, "Please, you wouldn't, you're a Terran, a human…"

"You're a slave that has been more trouble than you're worth. Why shouldn't I sell you off?" she replied coldly.

"But… but…"

"That's what you wanted, isn't it, SLAVE? Your collar. Or maybe I should chain you as a live target on a firing range, see how long it takes you to die. I'm just giving you what you say you want, your collar."

"Please… no…"

"Since you don't seem to care about your shipmates, or yourself, why should I give a damn about you?"

"Oh, god…" The blonde knelt as well as she could, "Please, ma'am, I'm sorry. I'll… I'll do what you want…"

"Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me that," the furious voice told her. Sniffling, she looked up, and her collar was grabbed, forcing her chin up. "You're going to tell your shipmates what you've told me, and I don't want to hear any excuses, either to them, or to yourself," the cold voice said, and the green, icy eyes bored into hers. "You're rationalizing, and I'm sick of it. You're going to be totally and completely honest. If your Captain feels you need a shrink, you'll go, you'll be totally and completely cooperative." She held the girl's eyes, "Now, is this the last order to a slave, or something that the free woman Ashley Nicheyev agrees to?"

"Ashley is dead, I…" she stared into the younger woman's eyes, "I, Ashley Nicheyev, agree."

"And is Ashley Nicheyev a free woman or a slave?"

"She… she hopes to be free again, soon."

"Good." Her collar was released, and a slight smile appeared. "I'm glad we can do business, Ashley. Are you going to agree to talk to your shipmates? Your actions directly affect them, it's only right you talk to them. I'm not asking for that, it's between you and them." She held Ashley's eyes, and the blonde thought she was staring into her soul. Almost subconsciously, she nodded. "I'll talk to them tonight."

"Good," Miss Wayne said again, breaking eye contact with a smile. "Baby steps, Ashley, you can do it," and flicked her wand to eliminate the privacy spell.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"What do you think they're talking about?" Yael Miller asked Mr. Morton. The crew sat around, eating shaved ice, people watching (and being watched in turn), and keeping an eye on the shimmering blue privacy spell a few meters away.

"Mattie and Ashley, the … person … in there with her, have known each other for a while, and she regards it… Well, it's personal business between them. She hasn't liked Ashley being so … enthusiastic about her slavery," he replied. "She thought she had an arrangement when they met on Tosul, but apparently something changed."

The privacy spell ended, Ashley turned her back to Miss Wayne, who released her cuffs. They approached, Miss Wayne smiling at them. "I'm sorry for the delay, everyone, but Ashley and I had to clear the air. She wants to say something…" and turned to the blonde.

"Um, yes, well, tonight, I was hoping we could have a … what's called a 'girls night in', where we sit around and talk, and I really need to tell you where I'm … well, why I keep wanting my collar; we need to talk and I need to explain some things to you…"

"Yes, you do," Yael said. "We'll order in a pizza or two, and share between shipmates. For now, I was thinking we could do some shopping (Arthur blanched) to properly equip these girls."

"Crystal, I'm sure you won't mind that?" Mattie asked her bodyguard, while smirking at Arthur. He turned to his, "Steve, I think we can trust the ladies?"

"I think so, mate," he replied. "At least we won't have to carry for them."

"Coward," Crystal said with a smile.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"So, Ashley, you had something you wanted to tell us?" Yael asked that night, as she sat, feet propped on the coffee table, holding a slice of veggie pizza.

"Yes, I'm curious as to why you want to keep your collar when we would love to be out of ours," C'ari said, holding a slice of 'everything' on a paper plate.

"Yes, please speak," T'ara said, also holding a slice of 'everything', a paper towel crumpled in one fist. "I know that I want out of mine, and this belt…"

"Well, the belt's part of it," Ashley/Frax/94383 said hesitantly. She had removed her smock and thin cotton skirt as quickly as possible, and now knelt, holding a slice of veggie pizza. She took a bite, then washed it down with a swallow of beer. She leaned forward, placing the bottle on a folded square of paper towel.

"Delay will not help," B'tan said. She had tried the pepperoni and stuck with it. "If you wish our assistance, you must speak."

Ashley/Frax/94383 took a deep breath, "Right. When I'm bound, it feels…"

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

A'nore looked at Yael, "You are also a native of this world. Is what she feels reasonable?"

"Well … to a very small part of the population, although to most it's more sexual game play." The other young women shuddered, and Yael raised an eyebrow. "Please explain that reaction."

T'ara took a long slug of her beer, then set the bottle down. "Usually, where there are games, we as slaves are the recipients of the 'play', without any choice of what to do."

"I admit I've dreamed of being on the other side, of having my master at my mercy, and I would show him none," C'ari said.

"Revenge," T'ara said, "On the one who collared me," and A'nore and B'tan nodded, while C'ari simply said, "WorkForce."

"Hmf," Yael said. "You equate sex, all sex, with pain and your collar? That's not how it should be."

"That is what our experience has shown us," C'ari said. "While I will admit that there are males, like Master Arthur, and other Terrans who are kind, and treat us as people, not animals to be bought and sold, they are very few. I would not wish them pain, but others, like former master Daala, I have spent long nights in a cell contemplating what I would do."

"It is not only Terrans," T'ara said. "My former master Gix was my master in name only, and that was to protect me." She gestured, "As we are contracted with Governor Sullivan. She trusted us to sign, as free females, contracts, and said we might work toward dark collars." She picked up her bottle again, then eyed the interior, and finished it. "Do any of you think you are ready to stand on your own?"

"Not I," C'ari said. "My goal is reachable, not forever a dream. I willingly admit I need help;" she turned to Ashley. "You also need help, are you willing to admit this, and to seek it? You are a shipmate, I am willing to assist, but you must make the first move."

"Start with your name," T'ara said. "Only a slave uses her number, or a slave name. I was T'ara before my collar; I will be T'ara after I am once again free. I therefore ask you your name."

"My name …" the platinum blonde whispered. She took a breath, then another. "I was … Ashley Nicheyev before my collar, and if my shipmates will help me, I will … I will once again be Ashley Nicheyev."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Wednesday, August 28, 2002: 14:12 (GMT -5)  
Terra, Cambridge, MIT Housing:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Chantal smiled nervously as her mother inspected her small dorm room. She had spent most of the day before cleaning, and had even asked Karen for some magical help. Her mother had looked over the mural of the Periodic Table (Anne Bundy had filled in several of the g block elements) on the entry lounge wall. She was glad most of her stuff had been packed and already shipped home. "Well, momma?"

"I doubt you normally keep it this clean," her mother said, before smiling and wrapping her daughter in a hug. "Oh, I'm so proud of you! The first to graduate college, and from such a good school! Now my baby is going off, being a working girl, although I don't know why you couldn't find something closer to home…"

"Momma, I'm really, really excited to be going, and the mines, you know the coal seam…"

"Yes, yes," she replied. "Well, this is my visit to the big city, so let's go meet some of your schoolmates." She gave a last, critical eye on her daughter's room. "I especially want to meet this Anne person you've written home about."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, August 29, 2002: 07:41 (GMT)  
Terra, London, Buckingham Palace:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

Mattie's cell phone rang, and she said, "Excuse me, please, ma'am." The Queen nodded, and she took a few steps away, "Hello? Oh, that's good news! I'm in a meeting … certainly." She listened; then said, "I'm proud of you, Ashley. It's a good first step. Let me know if I can help. Right. Bye." Dropping the phone in a pocket, she returned to the table and her seat next to Arthur, a smile on her face. "One of the people, she's well, I guess you could say she was addicted to her collar, to being a slave, ma'am. I ran across her with her shipmates yesterday, and they had a pizza party and talked about things; she's agreed she needs help and she's asking for it."

"Good. Always the first step," the Queen said. "Now then, Miss Wayne, we were discussing the actions on Windfall, specifically when you went off to aid your friend … (she flipped pages in _The Morton Report_) … Amber, and left Mr. Morton and others without a clear chain of command."

"Yes, ma'am. At the time, she was a friend who needed help, I confess I didn't consider that, we kind of operated on an ad-hoc basis."

"Thus we go to more formalized planning," she said. "What if there had been a conflict between your security personnel and your intelligence staff?" She glanced at Arthur, "I would also like to discuss with you, Mr. Morton, your conflicts in that area, as I have learned of through other reports. Specifically, with Hauptman Gruber and …"

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Thursday, August 29, 2002: 12:31 (GMT)  
Terra, University of London, Education Department lunchroom:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"Oh, tomorrow we finish our examinations!" Filius squeaked. "I'm so excited!"

Harry yawned, "I was up until all hours studying," he said. "It reminded me of sitting my OWLs."

"You no doubt felt as brain-dead as I," Lara Croft added. "I've gotten used to _giving_ them, not sitting them."

"I'm with Harry," Cho said. "It's too recent for me. Filius, however, took his exams when they had that new thing called _fire_."

"No, that would have been Albus," Pomona replied. "We're much more recent. The wheel and stone tablets."

*****---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***  
****Saturday, August 31, 2002: 14:51 (GMT)  
Terran orbit, GEO docks, **_MV (A) Manhattan_**, Cabin C-05:  
*******---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---*****

"I have this horrible suspicion that I've forgotten something," Karen Meyers said. "I always do, and I have to pick it up when I get there."

"That might be difficult," Eleanor replied. "I've the same thought, but I've checked my lists a dozen times. The only thing is I regret not being there when my little sister goes off to school, but she has my new email address, so she can write."

"That would suck," Karen agreed. "At least I've had longer to plan than you have."

"I met a bloke who had been there," Eleanor replied. "Although not to where either of us are going." She sighed, "We'll muddle through somehow."

"True. Let's go get our last pre-departure drink before we cast off."

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Afternoon, ladies," 'Mike' said, and waved her stein, "This is 'Tatya', my squad mate. I'm trying to get her onto beer, and away from vodka."

"Ah, but vodka warms the night," the shorthaired blonde replied. "Most important when waiting out duty in Siberia."

"I'll have to vote with beer," Karen said. "I must say, those uniforms look good on you two."

"See, Comrade?" 'Tatya' agreed, spinning a bit. The black mini-dress and red turtleneck she wore underneath nicely set off her blonde hair. "Although you do have more ribbons than I do."

"I'm longer service," 'Mike' said, holding up a sleeve with hash marks. "I joined the Corps before Korea, and they wouldn't let me serve in 'Nam."

"Ah, those were the days," 'Tatya' agreed, as the two civilian women moved off.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***

"Service in _Korea_? She doesn't look that old," Karen said, and Eleanor shrugged.

***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***---***


End file.
